Sling Shots
by illjwamh
Summary: Harry Potter wakes up to a familiar unpleasant voice, a headache, and with absolutely no idea what's going on.
1. Chapter 1

NOTE: If you're wondering why I'm posting this and not an update of one of the several unfinished stories I've got going, please look at my updated author profile. Also, sorry.

I hope I managed to make things mysterious enough.

Disclaimer: I obviously own nothing.

~O~O~

Harry Potter tossed and turned in half-sleep. Try as he might, he couldn't seem to get comfortable for some reason. His bedclothes felt itchy and confining and his head was aching. He tried to think of what he might have done the night before to cause this restlessness, but his brain wasn't working properly yet. For all he knew, he was still dreaming.

'Up! Get up! Now!' cried a shrill voice, accompanied by a loud rapping. Harry jerked awake; he knew that voice.

'Ouch!' he bellowed as he sat up quickly. His already aching head had crashed into the low sloping ceiling above his small bed in the cupboard under the stairs. Already his Aunt Petunia was rapping on the door again.

'Up!' she shouted once more, and next second he could hear her retreating footsteps.

Harry rubbed his pounding head, trying to wrap his mind around what was going on. He was most certainly in the cupboard under the stairs at Number 4, Privet Drive, and that was most certainly his Aunt Petunia yelling at him to get up. What he was having trouble understanding was the _why_ , seeing as he'd seen neither this cupboard nor his aunt in close to five years.

Thinking he must still be dreaming, Harry absentmindedly swung his feet over the side of his small bed only to discover they barely reached the floor. He was shocked for a moment, until he realized that the last time he'd been in this cupboard was before he was even eleven years old, so it would make sense that any dreams taking place there would give him the body he remembered having at the time.

Wondering what bizarre things he was going to see in the rest of the dream, Harry stood and opened the door, stepping out into the house proper.

If he'd been expecting something strange or spectacular, he was sorely disappointed. The house at Privet Drive looked almost exactly as he remembered it. It was so perfect, in fact, that he began to wonder if he wasn't dreaming at all, but perhaps reliving a memory of some kind. He knew he wasn't in a Pensieve – he'd be standing invisible beside his younger self if that were the case – but there were surely other ways to relive memories. Had he been hit with a curse or a jinx of some kind? He gripped his still-pounding head and strained to remember. He hadn't made any progress when Aunt Petunia reappeared seconds later.

'It's about time,' she snapped. 'Get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday.'

So that's when he was. Judging by his own height, it was either Dudley's tenth or eleventh birthday. He hoped it wasn't one of the years Aunt Marge had come to visit. Feeling it was best to just go along with things until he had a better idea what was going on, he followed Aunt Petunia wordlessly into the kitchen.

'Comb your hair!' barked Uncle Vernon the moment Harry entered the kitchen. Harry smiled and almost laughed; he'd forgotten how much his uncle – who looked younger than Harry could remember seeing him in a long time – had always hated his hair.

Harry was quite good at making breakfast. Quite apart from his years of forced practice with the Dursleys, he often used the task as a way to wake himself up and focus his thoughts in the morning – something he'd never managed to explain to his house elf's satisfaction. Kreacher did not like being robbed of any opportunity to take care of him.

He used that time now to take stock of his situation. He was certain now that he was not dreaming, for he'd never had a dream this lucid before. Indeed, he'd never once had a dream where he'd been entirely aware he was dreaming, and even in the few times when he'd been partially aware, he'd always been able to alter things to his liking.

No, he was almost certainly in a memory – his own memory, at that. How or why this was, he had yet to determine. It might have been a curse, but what purpose could such a curse serve? Had someone hoped to trap in him a traumatic memory to incapacitate him and gotten the timing off? Or had he come into contact with some type of cursed object and been trapped? That idea was most unsettling, as it meant he might have disappeared without anyone even knowing about it.

The other possibility that crossed his mind was that he had entered the memory voluntarily for some reason, but then once he arrived he'd forgotten why he was there. He knew of several potions and spells that could cause such an effect. If this were the case, he and whoever he'd been working with would have established a trigger of some kind to jog his memory.

Of course this was all conjecture, and the real answer might be something he hadn't thought of yet. He decided he'd best be on the lookout though, for either a trigger or whatever he'd come in here for. After all, if he'd done this to himself, there had to be something specific he needed to recall, though why he could not simply have used a Pensieve was beyond him at the moment.

He'd begun frying eggs by the time his cousin appeared. Harry nearly choked with laughter at the sight of him; having been so long accustomed to the burly boxing coach version of Dudley, he'd entirely forgotten just how porky the younger version used to be.

Still basically running on autopilot – which he supposed made sense if he was reliving a memory – Harry carried the breakfast plates over to the kitchen table, where Dudley was counting his birthday presents.

'Thirty-six,' he said, looking up at his parents. 'That's two less than last year.' Harry watched as Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon maneuvered to avoid a tantrum by promising to buy him more presents later in the day. He vaguely recalled witnessing this exchange before, but this time he inwardly marveled at the horrible parenting being displayed. Growing up, he'd always been focused on his aunt and uncle's mistreatment of him (for understandable reasons), and it had never really struck him just how bad they were at raising their own child as well. He'd always known Dudley was spoiled, of course, but seeing this display from an adult perspective was truly appalling.

The phone rang, and Aunt Petunia answered it while Dudley unwrapped a racing bike, a cine-camera, a remote-control aeroplane, sixteen computer games and a video recorder. She came back looking upset, and as Dudley opened another gift – a gold watch (' _Seriously?'_ thought Harry) – she explained that Mrs Figg had broken her leg and 'can't take him.' Harry knew she was talking about him, of course.

Something about the conversation jogged his memory, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He remembered being left with Mrs Figg several times as a child, and only later learning that she was a squib. Could something to do with her be what he was supposed to be remembering?

The Dursleys discussed what to do with him, acting as though he wasn't even there. As he wasn't really concerned with what they were saying so he may as well have not been there, this did not bother him. After a short time, Dudley began blubbering (falsely, Harry could tell), and wailing, 'I … don't … want … him … t-t-to … come!"

Come where, Harry didn't know, because he hadn't been paying attention and he didn't even remember what year this was. Something told him he should know, though, so he returned his focus to what the Dursleys were saying.

At that moment, however, the doorbell rang and Aunt Petunia ran off to answer it, returning moments later with a scrawny, rat-faced boy and his mother. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once. Harry only had to think for a second to remember this boy was Piers Polkiss, Dudley's best friend throughout most of his youth. Harry had less than fond memories of Piers, but was almost certain the boy had nothing to do with why he was here.

Half an hour later, they were in Uncle Vernon's car headed for the zoo, and Harry at last realized with a twisted feeling in his gut just what day this was. It was Dudley's eleventh birthday, the day he had first spoken to a snake, and the day he had performed his most memorable bit of accidental magic before learning the truth about his heritage.

He didn't remember much about the day other than the incident with the snake, but nothing really stood out at him as significant as they drove to the zoo and toured the different animal exhibits. In fact, save for buying him a lemon ice lolly and later letting him finish a knickerbocker glory Dudley had deemed too small, the Dursleys were behaving exactly as he would have expected them to act.

By the time they got to the reptile house after lunch, Harry was beginning to wonder again just what exactly was going on. Aside from the incident that was about to occur, absolutely nothing about this day had stood out to him as unusual in any way. Had the snake said something to him that he needed to remember? That would at least explain why he was reliving the memory instead of merely witnessing it; Harry could no longer speak Parseltongue, so watching a memory of himself talking to a snake would have just looked like a lot of hissing. Had whoever sent him here hoped that by experiencing the memory over again he would experience the translated snake language as well? It made as much sense as anything else he'd come up with so far.

Harry watched as Dudley made his father rap on the glass of the snake's enclosure to entice it to move, then grow bored when nothing happened and move on.

' _This must be it,'_ he thought, walking over to look at the snake himself. It lay there basking lazily. The only problem was that Harry couldn't remember what he had done to get it speaking in the first place, and the memory didn't seem to be playing itself out automatically as one might expect it to. Harry stared at the snake, trying to think of what he was supposed to do or say, when suddenly it opened its eyes and slowly raised its head to look at him. Had it sensed that he was a Parselmouth? That seemed the only explanation for its behavior, looking back on it. Waiting for it to say something, Harry stood there staring back at it, when it did something that sparked another long-lost memory. It winked.

Momentarily taken aback, Harry was at a loss for what to do, and so merely winked back. The snake then made a gesture that made Harry think it would have been rolling its eyes were it capable.

He should be saying something to it, Harry thought. He knew there had been more to it than this. But what was he supposed to say? He looked around, and glanced at the sign indicating that it was a Brazilian boa constrictor bred in captivity.

'Er,' he stammered, feeling rather silly. He hadn't spoken to a snake in a long time and wasn't sure how exactly to go about it, even though he was fairly certain he could, and was indeed supposed to. What did one say to a snake in a zoo?

'Do you ever get bored in there?' he tried lamely. That sounded like something he might've said at eleven. The snake nodded vigorously. 'Any idea what you'd do if you got out?' he asked. The snake almost looked like it was going to answer him, but they were interrupted by an excited yell from behind them.

'DUDLEY! MR DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T _BELIEVE_ WHAT IT'S DOING!'

Piers was gaping openmouthed at the snake, his eyes wide with excitement. Dudley came waddling over quickly. 'Out of the way, you,' he said, taking a swing at Harry. Harry's reflexes were so honed from years of training and experience that he dodged out of the way easily, but Dudley didn't seem to notice. He was now pressing his nose up to the glass of the snake's enclosure.

' _Any second now,'_ Harry thought to himself. He knew the glass was about to vanish and the snake would escape. Perhaps it would say something to him then that he was supposed to hear. He paid extra close attention so he wouldn't miss anything.

But nothing happened. The snake looked blankly at Dudley for a moment, then turned to Harry, who was sure it would have shrugged it if could, then lay back down and closed its eyes once again. Dudley was now laying into Piers for having him on, and Harry was left blinking in confusion at the dozing reptile behind a completely solid pane of glass.

What had happened? Harry busied himself with this thought for the remainder of the afternoon, to the point where his relatives likely thought him a bit touched in the head, because he certainly wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to anything that was going on around him.

The glass was supposed to disappear; the snake was supposed to escape. Not remembering little details was one thing, but that was a fairly major event in Harry's life. Why had it not happened the way it was supposed to?

He was supposed to have been punished, too. He remembered that. The accident with the vanishing glass had landed him in his cupboard for weeks, but the Dursleys were going about their business, treating him no worse than they would on any other day. When they got home after dropping Piers off, Harry again began to worry he'd somehow been trapped in some kind of curse. But if he was reliving his memories, why weren't they happening how he remembered them? Perhaps someone had altered his memories in some way? At first he thought accomplishing such a thing would be incredibly difficult, even for someone as talented as Hermione; then he remembered that she _had_ accomplished such a thing, essentially rewriting her parents' entire identity. If he was experiencing some sort of memory-related curse, it couldn't possibly be more complex than that, could it?

Without thinking, he'd gone upstairs to what would eventually become his room, but at this point was still Dudley's second bedroom. He shifted course for the bathroom instead, where he splashed some water on his face, though it did nothing to subdue the dull throb that had been his constant companion all day. Then a horrible thought struck him – the worst yet, in fact. Maybe he wasn't dreaming or remembering at all. Maybe the rest of it – Hogwarts, magic, his friends – was the dream. Maybe he had imagined it all and then woke up back in the real world and none of it had ever happened.

A feeling like an icy claw gripping his heart made Harry stumble and he quickly closed the bathroom door and locked it before anyone could walk in on him and ask him about it. Could it really be? Had he dreamed it all? Tears leaked from his eyes. _Ginny_ , he thought agonizingly. He was supposed to be engaged. He was supposed to be marrying the love of his life. Did she exist only in his head? And Ron, and Hermione, and everyone he knew? Were they imaginary? Some bizarre, elaborate delusion?

No, that couldn't be right, he thought, shaking his head and trying to pull himself together. There was no way he could have dreamed thirteen whole years of his life in such detail in a single night. There had to be some other kind of explanation. He just had to figure out what it was. Though at the moment, he couldn't help but feel that if someone had cursed him in an attempt to induce trauma, they'd done a pretty good job of it after all.

Aunt Petunia was yelling at him to come downstairs. Taking several deep breaths to compose himself, Harry reasoned that the best thing he could do for the time being was to play along. Until he knew exactly what he was dealing with, it would likely be best to avoid causing too much of a fuss. Calling to his aunt that he would be right down, he took a quick look in the mirror. A child with sellotaped glasses looked back at him.

'Okay, Harry,' he said to his reflection. 'You can handle this. You've been in worse fixes before. Just keep a cool head.' He steeled himself and headed back down the stairs. His last thought before Aunt Petunia started in on him to help with dinner was that if he _was_ trapped somewhere, there would certainly be no shortage of people on the other side trying to get him out.

Weeks went by with no indication how or why he was suddenly reliving his life in the 1990s. Several new theories had occurred to him, including that he'd actually gone back in time, but none of them seemed any likelier than the last. ' _And if it were time travel,'_ he reminded himself one morning at breakfast while Aunt Petunia busied herself with a pot full of something that smelled as though it had gone bad weeks ago, ' _I wouldn't be in my same body from before_.'

He knew this firsthand, having actually traveled back in time once many years ago. He would never forget the surreal sensation of watching himself get beaten up by the Whomping Willow on the Hogwarts Grounds, mere hours after actually living the experience.

That was another thing: was time travel of several years even possible? He was far from an expert, but he'd been under the impression that time turners could take a person back a few hours at most.

The reason his mind kept unwillingly coming back to time travel, even though he was sure that wasn't right, was because with each passing day full of experiences that he was sure did not and could not have happened, he was more and more certain that he wasn't just reliving a memory. His best theory remained some kind of cursed object – perhaps similar in nature to the Mirror of Erised – that he had somehow become trapped within. The only problem with that was that he couldn't think where he would have encountered such an object. The last thing he remembered before waking up in the cupboard was falling asleep in his own bed in his own home with his fiancée curled up in his arms.

Every time he thought of Ginny his heart gave a great pang, as if it were simultaneously being stabbed and squeezed by something red hot. He forced himself not to think the same thing he thought every night in the dark as he lay in that dingy cupboard: that it had all been a dream, and he had no fiancée, no friends, no magic. The only thing he could tell himself to keep those thoughts at bay was that the snake at the zoo _had_ understood him. He _could_ speak to snakes, which meant magic _was_ real and he wasn't crazy. But as each day passed with no change in his dreary life at Number Four, even that mantra was beginning to lose its power to buoy his spirits. After all, what if he'd imagined the snake, too?

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen then, interrupting Harry's melancholy, followed by Dudley, who was once again banging that idiotic stick around everywhere he went. As they sat down, wrinkling their noses at whatever was in the pot on the stove, the clack of the letter box could be heard from the front of the hall, along with several letters flopping on the doormat.

'Get the post, Dudley,' said Uncle Vernon from behind his newspaper.

'Make Harry get it.'

'Get the post, Harry.'

Harry obeyed automatically, as had become his habit. He was mostly just going through the motions these days, unable to see what the point of anything was in this memory, or illusion, or mundane reality, or whatever it was. The ability to feel anything at all save bleak hopelessness seemed to be seeping out of him as time went on, prompting yet another theory: that he was imprisoned somewhere with dementors and was being driven into despair. The very idea terrified him, no matter how many times he forced himself to remember that dementors were incapable of inducing full-on hallucinations. As far as he knew.

When he bent over to pick up the letters, he froze. There, among a postcard and what looked like a bill, was an envelope of yellowed parchment, addressed in glittering green ink to

 _Mr. H. Potter_

 _The Cupboard under the Stairs_

 _4 Privet Drive_

 _Little Whinging_

 _Surrey_

A great swell of joy ballooned up in Harry's chest as he picked up the post, destroying the dementor theory on the spot. Here, in his hand, was proof that he was not crazy, that magic was real, and that somewhere out there Ginny was waiting for him, wondering where he was and if he was okay. Who knew how long he'd even been gone? Maybe what had felt like a month to him had only been a few hours to her and everyone else. Maybe no one had even realized he was missing yet. He couldn't concern himself with such problems at the moment, because it was all he could do just then to take in the relief and happiness he felt at this little rectangular affirmation that it was all _real._

'Hurry up, boy!' shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen and bringing Harry back to the moment. 'What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?' He chuckled at his own joke.

Now Harry had to think fast. Did he let them see the letter and allow events to play out as they had before, or did he open it right now? His first instinct was to open it, but as soon as he thought it he realized there would be nothing really to gain. He already knew what it said, after all, and who knew what would happen if he altered such a major chain of events? Would his first meeting with Hagrid never happen? And how would he get to Diagon Alley to buy his wand? The Dursleys surely wouldn't take him.

He'd been mulling it over on his walk back to the kitchen and by the time he arrived had decided to let things happen more or less as he remembered them. And that meant not opening his Hogwarts letter.

'I've got a letter,' he said to his Aunt and Uncle, doing his best to sound as curious and amazed as he imagined his eleven year-old self had been.

'Who'd be writing to you?' Uncle Vernon sneered, snatching the letter away as Harry had known he would. He opened the envelope and shook out the letter. His face went from red to green to greyish white comically quickly.

'P-P-Petunia!' he gasped. Harry watched in amusement as his Aunt and Uncle panicked about the letter. It was a lot funnier now he wasn't desperate to read it himself. He made sure to protest when they took it away and destroyed it (not to would have been extremely suspicious, and even though Harry still didn't know exactly what was going on, he didn't want to get things so far off track he could no longer predict them).

The week that followed was the most enjoyable since Harry had first woken up in the cupboard. Free from the worry that he had imagined his entire life, he was able to watch Uncle Vernon descend further and further into paranoid madness with a kind of vindictive glee. He went along as the family was boarded up in the house, dragged out with no warning on a road trip to a dingy hotel in Cokeworth, and then finally to a very familiar hut on a rock out at sea. Harry hadn't realized it at the time, but knowing what he now knew, he could see Uncle Vernon was clearly trying to make use of the old superstition that witches couldn't cross water. It was all he could do not to burst out laughing while pretending to demand his letters back for the hundredth time.

The hut was just as he remembered it. Probably because of what had happened here, he'd always had a very clear memory of it, despite never even staying for a full day. He laid himself down right where he had been before – as near as he could tell – and waited. Unlike most of what he'd (re-)experienced in the last month, he did not remember just bits and pieces. This had been one of the most pivotal nights of his entire life, and he could recollect every moment of it almost perfectly.

He remembered watching Dudley's watch count down to his birthday. He remembered hearing scraping noises outside (he was hearing them again; his heart beat faster). And most of all, he remembered Hagrid knocking loudly on the front door almost exactly at midnight.

BOOM.

And there he was. Just like before. Harry's heart swelled. For the first time since entering this nightmare or whatever it was, he was finally going to see a friendly face.

As Hagrid knocked again and Uncle Vernon came stumbling out of the other room brandishing his rifle, a mad thought entered Harry's mind unbidden. What if Hagrid was trapped the same as him? What if he'd been sent to rescue him, pull him out?

As soon as the thought entered his head he dismissed it. After all, he knew from experience how difficult it was to do things exactly as he had done them before, when he could even _remember_ what he'd done before (which was almost never). What were the odds of Hagrid managing to turn up at exactly the same time and in exactly the same manner if he were having the same experience as Harry?

No, he decided, it was proof enough that the Hagrid who had just smashed down the door was as much a memory as everyone else by the sheer fact that he had behaved in the same way. The elation he'd felt upon seeing Hagrid again, buoyed by the anticipation and excitement that had been building up since the arrival of his first letter, seemed to drain away. A mad hope that had sprung out of nowhere and died just as quickly had managed to almost completely destroy his good mood.

It was just as well, he mused morosely, as Hagrid greeted him cheerfully. It would certainly look odd for him to greet a strange giant of a man he had supposedly never seen before as an old friend.

When Hagrid asked him if he knew about Hogwarts, he briefly considered saying that yes, he did, but ultimately decided he would prefer to watch his friend berate the Dursleys again. It was just as satisfying as it had been the first time, and Harry didn't have to fake his smile as a portion of his good mood returned. Dudley even got a pig's tail again.

In the morning, when he headed out with Hagrid, Harry grew concerned once more. Now that he was no longer merely hanging around the neighborhood of Privet Drive, there were hundreds of ways in which Harry could inadvertently alter the way things had happened before. He worried about this for many reasons: one, things would start to become more unpredictable, and he'd had a difficult enough time of it the first time through. Second, if he was supposed to be watching for something specific, it might not even happen if he altered the course of events too much. And third, sure as he was that it _couldn't_ be the actual explanation, the idea of time travel refused to leave the back of Harry's mind, and if it _was_ the case, he risked altering future events. Not that certain events couldn't use some altering, but then he circled back to that whole 'unpredictable' thing and his worrying would start all over again.

For the most part he felt like he was doing all right so far. Hagrid was mostly just making small talk as they made their way on the underground to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry made sure to ask his best estimation of appropriate questions. It wasn't actually difficult; he just had to pretend he knew absolutely nothing. In fact, he probably ended up asking Hagrid more questions than he had the first time.

When they reached the pub, everyone crowded around to see him. He received a shock upon meeting Professor Quirrell; he'd forgotten the man had been there that day. They shook hands without incident and Harry realized he must not have been possessed by Voldemort yet.

Much more socially assertive than he'd been when he was eleven, Harry was able to work his way to the back of the pub with Hagrid rather quickly. He could tell some of the patrons were a little disappointed, but he had more important things to worry about. For the first time since this all began, he'd have a wand, and would be able to do magic again.

Their first stop, of course, was Gringotts. Harry itched to visit his family vault, but then he wasn't supposed to know about that yet. Also, (he was likely imagining it), it almost seemed like he could feel the pull of the Horcrux locked away in the Lestrange vault. He wanted to just go down and get it and have everything over with, but couldn't think of a way to do it. Besides, he wasn't planning on staying here – wherever here was – long enough for that to matter anyway. Once he had a wand, he could resume looking for a way to break himself out of whatever curse – for he was now almost certain that's what it was – he'd gotten himself into.

Shopping with Hagrid wasn't as fun as it had been the first time. He mostly was impatient to get it over with so he could get his wand. He did, however, get to have a bit of fun when he met Malfoy in Madam Malkin's. He'd forgotten about that, too.

'Hullo,' said Malfoy from the stool next to him. Harry was momentarily taken aback; he'd never in his life heard Malfoy sound so polite and civil. Well, he supposed he must have, if this was a replay of what happened before, but he hadn't known Malfoy then and didn't remember it anyway. 'Hogwarts too?'

'Yes,' Harry answered politely.

'My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands,' said Malfoy. Harry privately wondered what good that would do, since Malfoy would need to be present for a wand to select him. 'Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first-years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow.'

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Same old Malfoy. 'Even if you did, they probably wouldn't let you ride it, would they?' he asked innocently.

'No, I suppose not,' Malfoy grumbled. 'Have you got your own broom?'

'Yes,' Harry lied. He'd have one soon enough.

'Play Quidditch at all?'

'Of course.' He suppressed a smirk. Oh, if Malfoy only knew…

'So do I. Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?'

' _Yes,'_ Harry thought proudly. Aloud he said, 'I've a fair idea.'

Malfoy nodded. 'Well true, no one _really_ knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?'

'I can think of worse things,' Harry said. He'd almost said 'Better there than Slytherin,' but at the last second he'd decided this was more fun when Malfoy didn't realize he was being made fun of.

'I say, look at that man!' Malfoy exclaimed, nodding toward the front window. There was Hagrid, grinning at Harry and holding two large ice cream cones.

'Oh, that's Hagrid,' Harry said. 'Gamekeeper at Hogwarts.'

'Oh yes, I've heard of him. I heard he's sort of a _savage_ – lives in a hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and ends up setting fire to his bed.'

'He's actually quite brilliant,' said Harry matter-of-factly, forcing down the surge of anger that had sprung up as he remembered all the times Malfoy had tried to get Hagrid sacked.

'Is he?' said Malfoy with a sneer, obviously not believing it. 'Why is he with you? Where are your parents?'

'They're dead, but thanks for bringing it up,' Harry said a little more coldly, having tired of this game.

'Sorry,' said Malfoy, clearly not sorry at all. 'But they were _our_ kind, weren't they?'

'British?' Harry questioned, pretending not to understand the question. 'Yeah, but I don't see what difference that makes.'

'No, I meant were they magical?' Malfoy asked, annoyed.

'Oh, right, yeah,' said Harry. 'They were. Still don't see what difference it makes, though.'

'Oh, you're one of _those_ people, are you?' Malfoy sneered. 'No proper wizarding pride, I see. Those people have never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of magic until they get their Hogwarts letter! I think they should keep it all in the old wizarding families.'

'You think that or your parents think that?' Harry asked. Malfoy puffed up in indignation, but was interrupted by Madam Malkin, who came over to tell Harry he was finished. Stepping down from the stool, he offered a cheery 'See you at Hogwarts!' to thoroughly irritated Malfoy and exited the shop.

They ate their ice cream outdoors, and Harry passed the time by asking Hagrid about random things he saw in the alley, since now he'd covered the basics, it turned out to be harder than he thought to think up questions about things he already knew all about.

Once they'd finished, they visited Flourish and Blotts. Harry was tempted to purchase some of the advanced books for later years, but Hagrid told him he wouldn't be able to manage spells of that level yet and he didn't argue. He reasoned there was always the school library, if it came to that. He smiled wistfully, imagining what Hermione would say if she knew what he'd just been thinking.

After books they visited the apothecary, and then Hagrid offered to buy Harry a birthday present. Harry nearly seized up. Of course Hagrid was about to buy him Hedwig; why hadn't he thought of this before now? He hadn't even seen her yet and the emotions welling up within him at the very thought of it were almost overwhelming. What was he going to do when he saw Fred? Or Dumbledore, or Cedric, or anyone else he'd seen die and spent years coming to terms with their loss?

He managed to hold himself together in the Owl Emporium. He had no trouble whatsoever picking out his faithful owl from among the dozens of birds on display. Even if she hadn't been one of only three snowy owls in the place, he'd have known her anywhere.

Doing his best not to get choked up in front of Hagrid, which would surely lead to awkward questions he still wasn't sure how he should answer, Harry followed the half-giant to Ollivander's wand shop.

This, too, was much as he remembered it. Hagrid held Hedwig's cage while the enchanted tape measure inspected every part of Harry's body and Mr Ollivander prattled on about wands. Harry paid a little more attention this time in case there was any useful wandlore worth remembering, but he didn't learn much except the make of his parents' wands, which he was sure Ollivander had told him before but he did not recall.

He was sorely tempted to just tell Mr Ollivander the wand he wanted so as to speed things along, but that would have led to those awkward questions again. Finally, Mr Ollivander placed the holly and phoenix feather wand in his hand and for the first time in over a month Harry felt whole again. He hadn't even realized how naked and vulnerable he'd felt until that moment. He grinned widely and Mr Ollivander was satisfied, and once again related to him the story of his wand's shared core with Tom Riddle's. This was all old news to Harry of course, so it didn't unnerve him nearly as much as it had the first time, and he left the wand shop in much higher spirits than he'd entered it. He had his wand, he had Hedwig, and maybe now he could actually _do_ something about his situation.

Almost immediately Harry spotted the flaw in his plan. While he doubted he'd get in trouble for underage magic at this point since he'd never officially been warned in the first place, it was more the issue of explaining how he'd managed to do any at all. An eleven year-old who'd just received his first wand and hadn't even been to school was not the sort one usually expected to perform complex enchantment assessment charms.

Thus, growling in frustration, Harry resigned himself to waiting an additional month before taking any definite action. He did, however, begin to map out the various enchantments he thought he'd check for, which ones he already knew how to deal with and which ones would require a stay in the library. His first instinct was to ask Hermione to help him, but of course even if she were more than just a construct of whatever he was trapped in, she didn't know him yet and he wouldn't be able to explain his problem to her even once she did.

The month of August seemed to absolutely crawl by. Harry had nothing to do and the Dursleys were completely ignoring his existence, which made him feel very lonely indeed. Not that their company would have been much better, but he was starved for any type of human interaction at this point. He missed his friends, his colleagues, and most of all he missed Ginny. He hadn't slept alone in over a year before this ordeal began and he still felt her absence at night, yearning for her touch, her smell, the sound of her voice, everything. It was a longing so powerful and unlike anything he'd ever experienced before that at times he feared it might overtake him and drive him mad. He couldn't afford that – not if he ever wanted to see her again. To get back to her once and for all.

Some nights he would just sit awake on his bed in a kind of meditation, trying to force himself awake, or out of an enchantment, or something. He was hindered primarily by the fact that he still didn't know what he was trying to force himself out of. Other times he almost felt like giving up, and just living this new life better than he had his first one. He could get close to Ginny sooner, he could save Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Fred, Cedric, everyone. But what good would that do? If this was an illusory world, saving people in it wouldn't do them any good in the real world, and being with all his dead loved ones would make it all the harder for him to leave when the time came.

Again the possibility crossed his mind that he was actually reliving the past, and again he forcefully dismissed it. Even if it were possible – which, he reminded himself again, it wasn't – there wasn't much he could do about it if that were truly the case. He knew he'd been acting largely as if time travel was the answer, because try as he might, he couldn't stop himself from considering it. Every time he pushed those thoughts down, they'd somehow wriggle back up to the surface again.

On the last day of August, Harry went to Uncle Vernon to ask for a ride to Kings Cross. He could make do without, but he felt he'd rather avoid the Knight Bus if possible. Uncle Vernon mocked the idea of Platform Nine and Three Quarters, but agreed to take him. So it was that the next day, Harry found himself preparing for his first day of Hogwarts. Again.

They arrived at the station with a half hour to spare. Uncle Vernon took Harry's things inside for him, and then pointed out the lack of his platform. As the Dursleys drove away laughing, Harry just shook his head in disbelief that anyone could be so unpleasant. It had been so long since he'd lived with them that apparently he'd forgotten just how awful they really were.

One of the most difficult things about going back more than half his whole life was just how much Harry did not remember. He reckoned it was not unusual for day-to-day trivialities to fade away over time, but it would be nice to stop being constantly surprised by things followed by an immediate sense of déjà vu. Some things, however, such as his first meeting with Hagrid, were etched permanently onto his mind. His first time on Platform Nine and Three Quarters was another one of those things. He had almost made straight for the hidden entrance and gone right onto the train when he remembered he hadn't been able to figure out how to find it that first time. Not that he was concerned with keeping up appearances, but it was Mrs Weasley whom he had asked for help, which meant she'd be along any moment – and she'd be bringing his best friend and the love of his life with her.

Harry knew he couldn't say anything to Ginny. He couldn't act like he knew any of the Weasleys, and he knew he'd be meeting Ron on the train shortly anyway. He just wanted to see her. She wouldn't be the girl he had come to know and love, but she'd still be Ginny and that was as close as he was going to get for at least a while.

He dawdled, pretending to be lost, when he heard a voice. The first (friendly) familiar voice he'd heard since Hagrid's, and it lifted his spirits immensely.

'– packed with Muggles, of course –'

Harry turned his head in the direction of Mrs Weasley's voice and saw them: Percy up front with his chest and prefect badge thrust out, followed by (his heart hitched) Fred and George, identical as ever, and a very young and gangly Ron. And of course Ginny. She was peering around as though looking for something and the second he caught sight of her Harry couldn't tear his eyes away. Even as a young girl, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. His breath caught and his eyes started to water, and he hastily turned away when he saw her head begin to swivel in his direction.

'Now, what's the platform number?' asked Mrs Weasley. There was a slight pause, followed by a ponderous sigh from Ron.

'Nine and Three Quarters,' he said, as if this were not the first or even the tenth time she had asked this question. Harry grinned; knowing Mrs Weasley, it probably wasn't.

He turned his trolley and prepared to follow them through the barrier at a slight distance. When he did, he thought he caught Ginny rapidly looking away from him, but it was probably just his imagination on overdrive – wishful thinking.

When he did walk through, the Weasleys were already a good distance ahead of them and Mrs Weasley was busy trying to wipe something off Ron's nose. He did not imagine it this time; only a few seconds after he passed through the barrier, Ginny looked back over at him and her eyes shot wide open in shock. Harry was puzzled. What was that about? She shouldn't have realized who he was yet.

She continued to watch him as he approached the train. Soon he was close enough to overhear Mrs Weasley say, 'Ginny, say goodbye to your brothers.' At this Ginny gave a slight jump and turned around to hug each of her brothers in turn and smile and wave them off as they got on the train.

Something wasn't right. Harry remembered this day very clearly, and Ginny had most definitely been in tears and begging her mother to be allowed to go to Hogwarts with her brothers. Moreover, she had not paid much notice to him until after Fred and George had revealed who he was. She was the first person he had yet encountered who was not acting the way he remembered.

His next thought struck him like a lightning bolt; hadn't he considered this possibility before, right before meeting Hagrid? He'd long since written it off as impossible, but now here the evidence was staring him in the face – literally, for his feet had begun carrying him toward Ginny as if she were a lodestone. They had not taken their eyes off each other and an expression of bliss and rapture was gradually overtaking her face. Mrs Weasley, busy telling off Fred and George, was paying them no attention.

' _Gin_?' he mouthed, using the shortened form of her name he only used when they were together, when his mouth had better things to do than pronounce two full syllables. She nodded rapidly, her radiant smile growing all the bigger as she opened her mouth to take deep gasping breaths. Harry caught himself doing the same.

The train's whistle blew, jerking him back to the moment. He quickly gestured to Hedwig and then pointed to Ginny. She nodded vigorously again. Then just before he turned to climb onto the train, and just before her mother turned back to her, the most wonderful thing to happen to Harry since waking up as a ten year-old happened: she very clearly mouthed the words, ' _I love you.'_

~O~O~

~O~O~

Don't ask me why I wrote this. This type of story can be found everywhere, and it's not like I don't have plenty of other things I should be working on. This is what my brain wanted to write though, so this is what you get. I have a whole big thing planned for this – and while I can't honestly say how long that will take, I can assure you that I know exactly where I'm going with this from beginning to end, so I won't have to make it up as I go.

This type of story has been done before, of course, but as far as I know, not this particular take on it. I wanted to include a sense of the unknown - an enigma. What exactly is happening and why it is happening is something that - for the moment, anyway - remains unknown to Harry (and the reader). This, I hope, will provide a sense of urgency that usually isn't there with this kind of setting.


	2. Chapter 2

I got a very positive response to the first chapter of this story, which was a welcome surprise. I was worried it would seem too "been-done". I wonder if anyone will figure out what's going on before Harry and Ginny do.

~O~O~O~

Harry stepped onto the train feeling lighter than a cloud. That had not been a memory, or a curse-construct, or whatever everyone else was; that had been Ginny. The real Ginny. _His_ Ginny. Somehow, some way, she was stuck here just like he was. And while that meant he now had to worry about her as well as himself, it also meant that he was no longer alone. And of all the people he wanted to see, he got the one he wanted to see the most.

The train started to move, and he was forcibly brought back to the present – such as it was – again. He schooled his features and concentrated on getting his breathing and heartbeat under control, so people who saw him didn't think he was some kind of nutter. Or, he supposed, a panicky first-year who couldn't handle going away from home for the first time.

He quickly found the compartment where Ron was sitting alone and asked to join him. After about ten minutes, he was already thinking that had probably been a bad idea.

It wasn't as if he weren't pleased to see his best friend. In fact if he hadn't just met Ginny he probably would have been over the moon about it. No, the trouble was that he knew Ron inside and out and yet had to act like they were just meeting for the first time. He still didn't know enough about his predicament to know what would happen if anyone caught on to whatever it was, and he was not yet desperate enough to find out. Keeping up the act, making sure he didn't let anything slip that shouldn't, very quickly became exhausting.

Hermione and Neville stopped by; he had to be careful not to be too friendly with Hermione but at the same time couldn't bring himself to be cold or aloof toward her either. He settled on polite and pleasant, and hoped nobody would read too much into it.

Malfoy also made an appearance with Crabbe and Goyle, but Harry had years of practice dealing with him and by the time they left, Malfoy was looking very sulky indeed and Ron seemed to think he, Harry, was some kind of paragon of wit.

All this happened in something of a half-daze, because all he could _really_ think about was getting to the castle and waiting for some time to himself so he could send a letter to Ginny.

~O~

The trip across the lake was uneventful, though he received another minor shock upon his first glimpse of the castle. The renovations after the battle had included a few additions here and there, and while only a couple of them were visible from the outside, they were still noticeable in their absence. When Hagrid led them up to the great oak front doors, Harry was careful to see if Professor McGonagall was acting any differently; the only problem was, he didn't remember her behavior from the first time clearly enough to be able to tell if anything was off.

Here, too, he was met with the rest of his old classmates. He'd already seen Neville on the train, but there were others he missed as well: Hannah, who had been preparing to marry Neville only a month

after he and Ginny were planning to tie the knot. Seamus and Dean, his dorm mates of seven years. Michael Corner, who had been tortured extensively by the Carrows and never really been the same since. And of course there was Lavender, his partner in the Aurors and the person he felt closest to outside of his fiancee and two best friends. She was talking away excitedly with Parvati Patil, not a true care in the world. This flighty and excitable young girl was so fundamentally different from the brave and confident woman he knew that it was almost impossible to believe she was the same person. And yet she was. Seeing her whole, without the scars Greyback had inflicted on her (physical and otherwise), tugged at his heart much like seeing Fred and Hedwig again had done. Beginning something of a list in his head, Harry decided that if he really did somehow end up living everything over, he would ensure she would not suffer that fate again.

He was interrupted in his reminiscence by the reappearance of McGonagall and the summoning of their group into the Great Hall. Being sorted again would be interesting, at least. Harry wondered if even after everything he'd been through, the hat would still consider putting him in Slytherin. He decided he didn't even want to know, and resolved to simply take matters into his own hands.

The moment the hat was placed on his head, it said, 'Hmm,' but Harry interrupted.

'Oh, don't even bother,' he thought at the hat. 'I'm a Gryffindor and you know it.'

There was a long pause, and then the hat said, 'Of course you are. I was just trying to work out how it is you've already been sorted, when I'm sure we've never met before.'

It took Harry a moment to realize what the hat was implying. He felt a spike of adrenaline, but forced himself to calm down. It made sense; the hat could see inside his head after all. But how much could it see?

'We have met,' thought Harry. 'Just not from your perspective.' This was new. Like Ginny, the hat was not behaving in the way it had before, but unlike Ginny, it still did not seem to recognize him.

'I don't suppose you could explain how that is possible?' the hat asked somewhat sardonically.

'I wish I could,' Harry thought. 'I'm just as flummoxed as you. I'm not even sure you or any of this is even real.'

'What else would I be?'

'A memory, a construct from a curse, a figment of my imagination, any number of things,' Harry rattled off.

'I assure you that I am none of those things,' replied the hat. 'Though I suppose even if I were, I would likely still say that. However I remain confident I am quite real. I can tell you the names of every student who has ever passed through this school. Every student I have sorted and when that sorting took place. I have a consciousness as sure as you do, Mr Potter; I think that would be quite difficult to duplicate in a curse, and of course a figment of your imagination would not possess all of that information.'

'It would if the records I checked to verify it were all in my head too,' Harry countered, feeling paranoid just thinking it, but thinking it just the same.

'You are not to be swayed, I see. I can only tell you what I see from my perspective: a boy who has been sorted before but whom I have never met, who has memories of things that have not yet happened. If I did not know better, Mr Potter, I would suspect that you were from the future.'

'Come off it,' thought Harry, though a chill had rapidly rippled through his body. 'If I were from the future I'd be twenty-three years old.'

'Indeed?' replied the hat, intrigued. 'Perhaps an elaborate vision, then? Could you have experienced these future events in some kind of prophetic dream?'

'In one night?' Harry replied incredulously. 'And anyway, I'm no expert, but since when do prophetic visions include details like trips to the toilet or going to sleep at night? Was I going to sleep while already asleep?'

'A conundrum indeed,' conceded the hat. 'It would not explain your prior sorting, either. I would only say that in an unusual situation, when all impossible explanations have been eliminated, whatever remains – however improbable or implausible – must be the solution. You say you could not have dreamed over twelve years in your sleep, and I am inclined to agree with you. You suggested a memory, but this conversation we are having now eliminates that as a possibility, as I am assuming we have not had it before, correct?'

'That's right,' Harry affirmed, getting excited in spite of himself at the chance to have someone to bounce ideas off for once. He was also immensely relieved to know that someone agreed with him that his whole life hadn't just been a dream.

'That is two possibilities eliminated,' said the hat. 'You say you also considered we are all figments of your imagination?'

'It's a possibility, but I've never really considered it likely,' Harry thought.

'Let us not see if we can eliminate it as well, shall we?' said the hat. 'If I am truly a figment of your imagination, then on some level you will know what I am thinking without me having to tell you. I will now think of a word; concentrate as hard as you can on what you think that word is.'

This sounded very odd to Harry, but he followed the hat's instructions. He cleared his mind as best he could and tried to focus on what the hat was thinking. After about twenty seconds, he was coming up blank.

'No idea,' he finally thought.

'Then we can conclude that whatever I am, my origins are likely not within your subconscious,' declared the hat. 'Incidentally, the word was "badger".'

'Okay.' Still, Harry insisted they try a few more times to be certain. The results were consistent, even when the hat picked perfectly normal words like "chair", or outlandishly ridiculous ones like "circumbobulate", which Harry was pretty sure it had completely made up.

'Two possibilities remain that you have considered,' said the hat once Harry was satisfied. 'One, that you have been cursed in some way, either by a spell or an enchanted object?'

'That's right.'

'The other,' continued the hat, 'that you are somehow reliving the past.'

'But that's impossible,' Harry thought firmly. True, it was an idea that kept rattling around in his mind and wouldn't go away, but it just couldn't be the case.

'Is it?' asked the hat. 'You know this for certain? Are you an Unspeakable studying the nature of time in the life you come from?'

'Well, no…' Harry admitted. 'But –'

'Then you are not in a position to declare what is or is not possible, I should think,' declared the hat. 'May I remind you that ten years ago, surviving the killing curse had been assumed impossible for thousands of years, but the proof that it isn't is currently wearing me on his head.'

Harry had no response to that. For the first time since first thinking of it, he was giving the time travel idea serious consideration.

'I think it is more likely, Mr Potter, that you are not allowing yourself to consider the possibility because you do not _want_ it to be possible. I cannot see specifics of course, but I can sense enough from you to know that you have had a difficult life. Few would want to repeat that.'

This made so much sense that suddenly Harry was terrified that the hat was right, and that he _was_ actually reliving the past. And it was definitely right about that being very undesirable indeed.

'You don't think I've been cursed, then?' he asked. Had he been speaking aloud, he'd have been stammering.

'Well, we can't rule it out yet. And even if you have time-traveled, it could be as the result of a curse, couldn't it? What other types of curses could create the effects you have experienced?'

'I've been trying to think of that. A Confundus would have worn off by now, even if Merlin himself cast it. I thought my memory may have been modified, but not if you're seeing things like me already being sorted.'

'Yes, a Memory Charm would not be able to falsify that,' confirmed the hat.

'I've been thinking it's more likely that maybe I got trapped in some kind of cursed object, similar to the Mirror of Erised or something that can create some kind of alternate world. But instead of what I want, it shows what I don't want? Or what I've already experienced?'

'Such things could exist, but there would be limits to just how elaborate these false worlds could be. I would advise you to consider this if your stay here continues, as you encounter more and more people, places, and things. The number of details that would be needed to maintain such an illusory world would eventually become astronomical, and – as you mentioned earlier – impossible even for Merlin himself.'

'Leaving only one possible explanation,' Harry finished, a horrified seed of acceptance settling within him.

'Indeed,' agreed the hat. 'But we've sat here long enough. Everyone must be wondering what exactly it is we're talking about. Best of luck, Mr Potter. GRYFFINDOR!'

Harry jumped in his seat. He'd quite forgotten where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. Judging by the brief period of silence, so had everybody else in the hall. Quickly enough though, raucous cheers rang out from the far left table, just as they had the first time. As he approached the familiar long table, he could hear the Weasley twins chanting 'We got Potter! We got Potter!' and they scooted down to make room for him while Percy stood up to shake his hand.

'The first Hatstall in decades!' Nearly Headless Nick announced cheerfully from across the table as he reached across to greet Harry as well. 'And young Miss Granger and Mr Longbottom were up there for quite a while too! It's looking to be an interesting year for Gryffindor!'

When Ron came to join them, he was keen to find out what had taken so long with Harry's sorting.

'What was it talking about with you for so long?' he asked.

'Now Ron,' Percy admonished, 'A person's conversation with the Sorting Hat is their own business.'

'Well, I mean, you don't have to say if you don't want,' Ron assured him, 'but was it having trouble making up its mind?'

'You could say that,' Harry said, amused despite himself. 'I'm glad I ended up here, though. From everything I've head, Gryffindor house is the best.'

'Damn right it is,' George said proudly, slapping Harry on the back. 'Welcome aboard, Harry. Ron.'

'You'll love it,' said Fred. 'Guaranteed.'

The hall went silent as Dumbledore got to his feet. He beamed around at all of them, and Harry couldn't help but smile back. He truly had missed the old man's reassuring presence. If he really had gone back in time as the Sorting Hat suspected, he'd have to make sure things went better for the Headmaster this time around, too. He added that to his list.

'Welcome!' Dumbledore said happily. 'Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

'Thank you!'

He sat back down and Harry laughed heartily, a tear coming to his eye. There truly was no one else in the world like Dumbledore.

The feast was every bit as good as he remembered from Hogwarts, but afterward he was once again unceremoniously reminded just what, exactly, he was in for. Dumbledore's announcement about the third floor corridor reminded him of Fluffy, and the Philosopher's Stone, and Quirrell, who even now was sitting at the staff table sipping mulled wine with Voldemort's face hidden under his ridiculous turban while everyone else sang the school song under Dumbledore's conduction. His earlier conversation with the Sorting Hat and his new perspective on his situation had temporarily driven the other major events of his original first year out of us head.

He would worry about that, however, after he'd written to Ginny, and gotten her thoughts on the whole thing. He didn't want to tell her what he'd discussed and deduced with the hat until he heard what she'd managed to come up with on her own so far. In the meantime, he had to pretend he had no idea where he was going as he and the other first years followed Percy through the winding corridors and staircases up to the portrait of the Fat Lady outside Gryffindor Tower. Harry counted seven hidden passages they could have taken along the way to make the journey quicker, leaving him quite frustrated by the time they arrived and Percy gave them the password, _Caput Draconis._

Harry's roommates fell asleep almost at once, making it easy for him to sneak back out of bed. He didn't want to write the letter in his dormitory however, in case one of them woke up. He waited until he was sure everyone else would be asleep and crept down to the common room where he sat at one of the tables, took out his parchment and quill, and composed a letter.

 _Dear Ginny,_

 _Is it really you? If it isn't you're surely going to wonder what this is about, but I know it is. I saw what you said to me as I was getting on the train. I wanted to say it back but your Mum had turned around and that might have been a little awkward._

 _I love you._

 _There it is. I'll say it to your face a hundred times the next time I see you, I promise. I can't believe you're really here. I thought I was going to go mad! I've been stuck in – whatever this is – since late June! I was starting to worry I'd never see you or anyone else again!_

 _Do you know how we got here? Were we sent here? Did we come together? On purpose? I can't remember anything. I remember going to sleep holding you and then waking up next morning in my old cupboard with Aunt Petunia banging on the door. I've thought of a number of things that might have happened but I want to hear what you've thought of in case you've come up with something I haven't._

 _Have you had any problems? Or noticed anyone else who isn't acting the same as they did before? So far you're the only other person I've met this is happening to. Ron and Hermione certainly didn't give any sign that they'd ever seen me before, nor did Hagrid. Not even Dumbledore! I'd hoped that if anyone could explain what was going on, he could, but no luck there I'm afraid._

 _I still can't believe you're really here. I mean, I'm worried now, because if this is some kind of curse I obviously don't want you mixed up in it, but I wasn't kidding before when I said I was afraid I was going to go mad. When I finally saw you, it was like that_ _first_ _great gulp of air when you think you're drowning. And that was before I even knew it was the real you._

 _I'm writing this in the middle of the night and I'm about to sneak off to the Owlery to send it to you. I can't wait to hear from you, and to see you again. Together we can figure this out, I know it._

 _I love you,_

 _Harry_

It was the fastest letter Harry had ever written. The words just came pouring out. There was so much more he wanted to say, but he needed to get the basics out of the way so they could start forming a plan. That, and he was so anxious to send the letter that he couldn't bear spending any more time on it.

He knew he was taking a risk, sneaking out in the middle of the night on the first night of term. His thoughts drifted to his invisibility cloak, wherever Dumbledore was keeping it, and the Marauders' Map, up in Fred and George's dorm. Still, he thought, as he crept stealthily out of the portrait hole, he knew the castle well enough and certainly had enough experience sneaking around that it shouldn't be a problem.

He was helped, he guessed, by the fact that nobody expected anyone to be sneaking around the castle this early in term. Mrs Norris was his only real threat; just about everyone else he'd be able to hear coming soon enough to find a place to hide.

To his great surprise, he was able to make it all the way to the Owlery without any trouble whatsoever – not even the sound of Peeves making chaos off in the distance. That made him slightly nervous; his luck was never that good. Still, it was with great excitement that he called Hedwig down to him and tied the letter to her leg.

'Take this to Ginny Weasley at the Burrow, okay?' he said. 'Take it straight to her room; don't let anyone else see you if you can help it. And do the same thing when you bring her reply; keep out of sight and only deliver it to me when no one else is around. Got it?'

She nipped lightly at his finger to show she understood and was off. Harry watched her go with that same sense of excitement. With any luck, Ginny would get his letter before going down to breakfast in the morning, which meant he might get her reply as early as that night.

A distant sound reminded him that he was most definitely out of bounds. Being underage and following school rules again was definitely going to take some getting used to. As quietly as he could, he descended the stairs leading out of the Owlery and peeked into the corridor beyond. Seeing nothing, he made a beeline for the corridor containing the Room of Requirement, reasoning that he would have an assured hiding place there if necessary.

It was a good thing he did, because as soon as he reached the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy, Mrs Norris rounded the corner in front of him and turned her lamp-like eyes right on him.

Knowing he had only seconds, Harry quickly paced back and forth in front of the wall, thinking, _'I need a place to hide that Filch can't see, I need a place to hide that Filch can't see, I need a place to hide that Filch can't see.'_

A bare patch of wall opened up, just like the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Harry stepped into it not a moment too soon, for he could hear Filch's hurried footsteps even as the wall slid shut again. _'I need to be able to hear out into the corridor,'_ Harry thought, remembering what Neville and Seamus had told him about the room so long ago now: 'You need to ask it for _exactly_ what you want.'

As soon as he'd thought of this, a small, ornate vent appeared in the stone wall up near the ceiling, looking as though it had been carved hundreds of years ago.

'Where are they, my sweet?' Filch asked. Harry wondered vaguely if he was about to discover how exactly it was Filch communicated with his cat, but instead she just miaowed. 'Well, they can't be far,' Filch said. 'Let's scour the area.' He could hear Filch clomping off in one direction, but could only assume Mrs Norris was going in the other. That other way was unfortunately the way he needed to go. Then he remembered something else he'd learned from his friends about this room.

' _I need to exit near Gryffindor Tower,'_ he thought, and a passageway appeared. He followed it to a door, which he opened just a crack and peeked out. He was almost directly across from the Fat Lady. Peering as far down the corridor as he could in both directions and seeing nothing, Harry decided to make a break for it.

He bolted from the doorway, called ' _Caput Draconis'_ as softly as he could only halfway across the hall, and practically dove through the portrait hole without even slowing down. He paused for a moment to catch his breath as the portrait closed behind him, then tiptoed back up to his dormitory. Mission complete.

~O~

Harry's first day back in classes was one of the most surreal things he had ever experienced. He felt like a veteran professional athlete being put onto a children's starter team. He found he needed to exert a lot of effort to _not_ go through everything … well, effortlessly. The plants they covered in Herbology seemed as basic and mundane as dandelions, and Quirrell's defense class was an absolute joke. He seemed to recall feeling that way about it the first time around too, however.

In their first Charms lesson, Professor Flitwick was so excited to see his name when taking the register that he squeaked and toppled off his pile of books. This also may have happened before, but Harry was so accustomed to all the professors being used to his presence that it took him by surprise. The class itself turned out to be as dull as anything else though – no magic at all, just a heap of notes about things Harry already knew. He couldn't not take them without drawing unwanted attention, but they weren't perhaps quite as thorough as he might have done the first time.

Pretending to get lost with Ron was fun, at least. Sometimes, while pretending to be just as clueless as his friend, he would deliberately lead them off course for a laugh. He made sure they always made it to class on time, though.

By the time they'd finished dinner, he was so excited for Ginny's letter that he was barely able to pay attention to what Ron was saying, and, pretending to be exhausted, turned in early. Once he had drawn his bed's curtains, he cast a silencing charm followed by an alarm charm that would wake him up at quarter past two, at which time he planned to descend into the (hopefully) empty common room so Hedwig could deliver the letter.

At first he thought his excitement might make it difficult for him to fall asleep, but before he knew it the chirruping of his alarm charm was waking him up to a feeling he usually associated with Christmas morning. Making sure to disable his alarm _before_ the silencing charm, Harry put on his dressing gown and crept down the spiral staircase into the common room. He only had to wait a minute or two before a tapping on one of the windows alerted him to Hedwig's presence. He hurried over to let her in, then carried her back to the couch on his arm.

'Good girl,' he said fondly, stroking her feathers while he untied the envelope from her leg, and then fed her some owl treats he'd put in his pocket earlier. She hooted gratefully before departing through the still-open window, which Harry then shut with a flick of his wand. Turning his full attention to the envelope in his hand, Harry took a moment to gaze in wonder at the handwriting on it. Fingers trembling, he opened it and extracted the letter from within.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _It's you! It's really, really you! Oh Merlin, I missed you so much! I still miss you, but at least I know you're out there, and I can write to you and hear from you. I must have re-read your letter two dozen times already. I know exactly what you mean about being afraid you might go mad; I'd been beginning to worry about the same thing. I was afraid I'd never see you again, and that you'd never know what happened to me._ I _still don't know what's happened._

 _You say you got here around the end of June? That's odd, because I woke up here almost exactly a month later. I remember because it was the day Ron got his Hogwarts letter – about a week before your birthday. As far as I could tell though that's the only difference, since the last thing I remember is falling asleep curled up next to you. It must have been the same night._

 _As for why we're here, I have no idea. If either of us did know, we've both forgotten. To me it seems like we've gone back in time somehow, but I had thought that we'd have gone in our own bodies if that were the case. That's what happened when you and Hermione did it before, right? And I thought there was a limit to how far back you could go. Or is that just a regulation, and not a limit on the actual possibilities of the magic? I wish we could ask Hermione. I miss her, and everyone else, but if there were only one person in the world I could choose to have with me, it would be you._

 _There's so much I want to tell you – and ask you. This letter could easily get absurdly long very quickly. How about, instead of that, I borrow some Floo Powder from Mum and Dad? Just a pinch. Since I know you're probably reading this in the early morning, do you think you could make it down to the common room tomorrow night at around 2:30? Don't worry about sending a reply to this unless you can't make it. We really need to work some things out, Harry, but more than that I just want to see your face again. I want to hear your voice._

 _I'm forcing myself to stop now, because if I don't I'll still be writing this by the time everyone gets up for breakfast tomorrow. I love you and I can't wait to see you tomorrow. Take care of yourself, and Ron._

 _All my love always,_

 _Ginny_

 _P.S. A hundred times would be wonderful, but I worry we won't have the time, so a half-dozen will be sufficient. XOXO_

The letter itself had a faint hint of the flowery scent that always clung to Ginny, and Harry held it to his nose and inhaled greedily before going back to pore over it again. Floo Powder! Merlin, she was brilliant. It was so simple! And he'd be talking to her in almost exactly twenty-four hours. Face to face! He could hardly contain himself.

Looking again at the letter, he focused on how Ginny, too, seemed to believe it most likely that they'd been sent to the past somehow. Though he did not know how that could be done by having them inhabit their original bodies, he conceded that the Sorting Hat was right in that he was not exactly an expert in that area, so there was no reason it could not be entirely possible and he just didn't know about it.

If that did turn out to be the case, it made it more important than ever that he not let on to anyone else what was happening, and what he knew. Too much knowledge of future events could be dangerous – he knew that much – and noble as his intentions typically were, Harry was not entirely certain he trusted even Dumbledore with that type of knowledge. He took solace, however, in his confidence that Dumbledore would likely have agreed and not trusted himself with it, either.

This of course meant that he could not allow anyone to ever see the letter he was still holding (and occasionally sniffing). As he was almost certain his subconscious would physically not allow him to destroy it, he settled for hiding it in the bottom of his trunk under a particularly ugly pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks.

~O~

If waiting for Ginny's letter had been exciting, it was nothing compared to waiting to speak to her face to face the following night. He was so worked up he almost forgot himself more than once, and nearly transfigured his match into a needle on his first attempt in Transfiguration before remembering at the last second that he shouldn't know how to do that. He decided to wait until after Hermione managed to make hers go long and pointy before turning the head of his match into the eye of a needle, reasoning that it would be impressive enough without being suspiciously so. Between the two of them, they earned seven points for Gryffindor, so that was something, he supposed.

History of Magic was just as boring as it had always been – unlike most of the other classes, it couldn't possibly be any more dull than it had the first time around – but Harry was surprised to note just how much easier it was to pay attention. Evidently having an adult attention span was advantageous in some areas. Even more surprising was how much of Professor Binns' droning lecture he actually already knew; apparently he'd taken in more over the years than he'd thought.

He and Ron spent the rest of their afternoon before dinner exploring the castle, which was probably a lot more fun for Ron who was seeing it all for the first time. More than once Harry caught himself too late automatically skipping over a trick step or walking past a false door; Ron was too busy getting fooled by them himself to notice, but Harry knew that wouldn't last and he'd need to be more careful.

After dinner they worked on the homework Professor McGonagall had given them. It probably seemed like a lot for most first years, but Harry finished it in no time at all and then spent the rest of the evening pretending he hadn't. He was definitely going to need to work out a better system because he could see how that was going to get tedious very quickly.

Once again he placed alarm and silencing charms around his bed once he'd shut the curtains. He tossed and turned about for a bit in anticipation before drifting off, and was then awoken once more by the chirruping alarm.

Checking that all his dorm-mates were asleep, Harry once more tiptoed down the spiral staircase into the deserted common room. Looking at his watch, he saw that he had about five minutes before Ginny was due to appear, so he dragged his favorite armchair over to sit directly in front of the fire. If anyone came downstairs now, Ginny would have a split second to disappear before anyone could see her.

Sitting in the armchair staring at the fire, Harry's heart was pounding harder than it had since the day he proposed. At that time, even though he'd been almost completely certain she would say yes, he had still been more nervous than at any other time in his life, including the first time he faced a dragon. Now it was not nerves but hope that drove his adrenaline, but the feeling was not dissimilar at all.

With a quick flash and a _whoosh_ , Ginny's ten year-old face appeared before him, and he broke into an almost painful grin, which she reflected almost immediately.

'I love you,' were the first words out of his mouth, before he'd realized he'd even spoken.

'That's one down and five to go, Potter,' she teased. 'I love you too. Merlin, it's good to see you.'

'You're telling me,' Harry sighed, sliding off the chair to kneel on the floor as close to her as the heat would allow. 'I'd about lost it, Ginny. I don't know what I would have done, honestly I don't.'

'Me too,' she said. 'It was especially hard being around Fred every day. I mean, it was wonderful, but painful too, you know?'

'I do,' he nodded. 'It was the same for me when he and George came to say hello on the train. I don't know how you managed it for a whole month.'

'It gets easier,' she said. 'The hardest part was not letting anyone know I wasn't the same Ginny they knew.'

'I'm starting to realize that, yeah,' Harry said fervently, thinking back on his first two days of school. He knew that Ginny was a much better actor than he was, so if she was admitting to having trouble, he needed to be doubly on his toes. 'I keep slipping up and almost letting on that I know more than I should, or know people I haven't met yet. With the Dursleys it wasn't much of a problem since we never spoke much anyway and I doubt they'd notice anything if we did, but here…'

'Lessons must be a treat,' Ginny grinned. 'Are you outperforming Hermione in everything?'

'I'm taking great care not to, as a matter of fact. It's harder than you'd think, actually. First year spells are so basic that it's harder to _not_ do them properly than it was to get them right when we first learned them.'

'I can imagine,' she said, with an air of exasperation. 'I can't tell you how many times I've gone to summon my clothes in the morning or fix something a gnome's broken before remembering I haven't even got my wand yet.'

'That has to be frustrating,' Harry failed to repress a smile.

'You have _no_ idea,' she said, before laughing. 'Or I suppose you do. Anyway,' her tone turned serious, 'what do you reckon is happening? Have we really gone back in time? That's certainly what it seems like.'

'It's looking more and more like that's the case,' Harry agreed reluctantly. 'I can't imagine how it's possible, but the Sorting Hat reckons that's what's going on as well, and it reminded me that I'm not exactly an expert on time travel, so how would I know what's possible and what isn't?'

'You talked to the Sorting Hat about it?'

'Oh yeah, we had a nice long gab. I ended up as a Hatstall this time around, if you can believe it. Not because it didn't know where to put me,' he added as she opened her mouth in surprise, 'it knew right away I'd already been sorted. That's what got the whole thing going. It helped me eliminate some other possible theories I'd been considering, too.'

'I don't even want to ask what those are,' said Ginny. 'They'll probably just terrify me.'

Harry shrugged. 'Maybe, but I can't see how going back in time thirteen years is much better. The hat seemed almost positive that's what's happened.'

'You're still not sure, though?'

'Well, we could be trapped in some kind of curse or cursed object, but the hat pointed out that something like that would need to be ridiculously complex, so the longer we're here, the less likely that becomes. I'm starting to agree with it, if I'm being completely honest.' It was the first time he'd admitted this, even to himself. 'I mean, it's supposed to be impossible to recall the dead, but we know that's not true,' he said, alluding to the Resurrection Stone he'd used to speak to his parents and Sirius and Remus. 'And it's not supposed to be possible to survive the killing curse either, and I've done that twice. Who's to say going back to relive the past can't be done? The bigger question there is why.'

'Well, if it's something we did voluntarily, I certainly don't remember it,' Ginny said.

'Nor do I. I've thought about that, too. If we had sent ourselves back deliberately, I'm sure we'd have put in some kind of precaution in case we lost our memories. Some kind of trigger to jog them and remind us why we're here.'

'That makes sense,' Ginny nodded. 'I haven't seen or felt anything like that. So you think someone else sent us back?'

'Most likely. Whether they did it on purpose or by accident is another question altogether.'

'True,' Ginny agreed. 'This isn't likely to be some kind of prank, and it seems a rather benign method of attacking us.'

'Unless they were just trying to attack us psychologically,' Harry pointed out.

'That's a good point, but then why send us both?' Ginny asked. 'I mean, we've both said we were worried about going mad, but that was until we met up.' She paused and smiled happily. 'Seems a poor way of driving us crazy, don't you think?'

'Yes,' agreed Harry again. 'Especially since anyone who knew us at all would know that would be the one way to make sure it wouldn't work.' His eyebrows shot up in sudden realization. So did Ginny's.

'You don't think…' she started, and trailed off when he nodded strongly.

'Maybe, maybe,' he said. 'Sending us both back would ensure neither of us went mad, which means whoever did it didn't _want_ us to go mad.'

'So why send us at all?'

'Maybe we're supposed to fix something,' Harry grasped at the myriad ideas now zipping around in his head. 'Change something. Like when Hermione and I went back to save Buckbeak and Sirius.'

'That was just a couple of hours, though,' Ginny said. 'What would need sending us back this far?'

'Well, the only thing I can think of is the war,' Harry said. 'I've already wondered whether or not I should just expose Quirrell right here and now and have the whole thing over with. But the war's been over for years. Why risk everything we've managed to rebuild on the off-chance we can do it better this time?'

'More important than that, why not send Ron and Hermione as well?' Ginny asked. 'They were a much bigger part of taking down Voldemort than I was.'

'Assuming that's even it,' Harry said. 'And maybe they couldn't. Maybe two people is the limit. Maybe they did but Ron and Hermione haven't arrived yet. You said you woke up about a month after I did, right?'

'That's true,' Ginny conceded. 'We really don't have much to go on at all, do we?'

'No,' said Harry. 'But when have we ever let that be an issue?'

Ginny laughed. It was a beautiful sound.

'I love you,' Harry blurted again.

'You really are going to go for six, aren't you?' Ginny asked, sounding quite amused.

'I promised, didn't I?' countered Harry. 'And anyway, sometimes I can't help it. It just comes out.'

'I know the feeling,' Ginny sighed, giving him a very fond look. 'But we really do need to come up with some sort of plan. I think it would be best if we _hope_ to get ourselves out of this soon, but plan to be stuck here.'

'My Auror training seems to have rubbed off on you,' Harry teased.

'At your own insistence,' Ginny fired back.

'I regret nothing. But you're right; the worst case scenario is that there _is_ no way out of this other than just living through it all again, so that's what we should plan for.'

'Won't that be fun,' Ginny said darkly.

'In the meantime we can be on the lookout for any kind of memory triggers to clue us in as to why this happened, as well as anyone else we think might have been sent back along with us.'

'That might be hard, the farther along we go,' Ginny pointed out. 'I mean, I don't know about you, but I don't remember every little thing I did every day thirteen years ago, so we're bound to change some things. The farther along we go, the more and more different everything is going to become.'

'True,' said Harry. 'But even if that's the case, anyone coming back from the future would at least be a little confused by things. We can think about how we're acting and try to see if anyone else is doing the same. A few changes might even work to our advantage in that case, since it might mean the person in question is coming back to a past they don't recognize, which is bound to be extra confusing.'

'All right,' said Ginny. 'I suppose that's the best we can do under the circumstances. But now on to more pressing matters: what _are_ you going to do about Quirrell? You said you only toyed with the idea of exposing him; you're not planning to go through that whole ordeal again, are you?'

'I've been thinking about that since I got here,' said Harry. 'Based on what I remember, Voldemort should already have possessed Quirrell by now, so in theory I could just go up and shake his hand one day and reveal the whole plot right there.

'On the other hand, I have no idea where the Philosopher's Stone is right now. Dumbledore hid it in the Mirror of Erised last time, but that was just sitting around in an empty classroom as late as Christmas break, so he probably hasn't gotten around to it yet.'

'If you ousted Voldemort right now, they might not even need to destroy the stone,' Ginny suggested.

'They still might. I mean, if they don't, he could just try to steal it again another time. When have we ever known Tom Riddle to give up after one try?'

'That is a good point,' agreed Ginny. 'And something else I just thought of: what are you going to do about Hermione?'

'What do you mean?' Harry asked, not sure where she was going with such a question.

'Well, I mean, you three became friends last time because you saved her from a troll and she kept you out of trouble, right?' Ginny said. 'If that doesn't happen, maybe you won't become friends at all this time.'

'I could just try being nice to her and making friends normally,' Harry said wryly.

'You could,' Ginny continued, 'but from what you lot have told me, Ron was a right prat to her for the first couple of months, and you weren't much better. Even if you are friendly toward her, Ron might not be. _And_ ,' she went on, before Harry could refute her first point, 'Hermione herself wasn't particularly pleasant to be around either, from what I understand. Maybe the three of you needed some big event to bond.'

'I don't know, Ginny,' said Harry, considering this. 'I mean yeah, we thought Hermione was a bossy know-it-all at first, but we were eleven. And to be fair, she didn't really change after the troll; we just decided we didn't mind that aspect of her so much. I think if I asked her if we could study with her or something, she probably wouldn't say no. Ron would grumble, but he'd go along with it, I think, especially after he realizes how much she'll be able to help him with his homework.'

'Will she want to, though?' Ginny asked. 'I mean before, she obviously knew you were all right blokes because you'd saved her from a troll. What reason does she have to trust you this time?'

'What do you mean?' Harry asked, bewildered.

Ginny sighed in exasperation and rolled her eyes. 'Harry, you're incredibly sweet and I love you, but you can also be remarkably dense at times. You know Hermione never really had any friends in Muggle primary school, right?'

'She never really talked about it, actually,' replied Harry uncomfortably.

'Really?' Ginny asked, surprised. Her eyebrows had shot up toward her hairline. 'Well, I suppose that makes sense,' she said more to herself than to Harry. 'It must be uncomfortable to talk about. Anyway,' she went on, back to him, 'she didn't. Most of the other kids teased her and picked on her for being a "bossy know-it-all", and the ones who didn't were only nice to her because they hoped she'd help them with their homework. She's not likely to trust you if you just come up to her out of the blue, _especially_ if that really is all Ron is after from the friendship.'

'Wow,' said Harry, trying to take all of that in. 'She never mentioned any of that. I mean, I never had friends in primary school either, but that was just because of Dudley. So you reckon we really do need the troll, then?'

'I worry that you might, yeah,' Ginny said.

'What if we just stood up for her when other people pick on her?' Harry suggested.

'That could work,' Ginny said thoughtfully, 'but there's still Ron. I know you've always had a certain amount of influence over him Harry, but I don't know if you'd be able to get him on board with that so soon.'

'You might be right about that,' said Harry sadly. 'We did just start after all and he's not likely to want everyone thinking he's a swot.'

'Exactly.'

'Remind me why I'm best friends with a prat, again?' Harry joked.

'Because you were eleven and you were a bit of a prat too,' Ginny reminded him, smiling indulgently.

'Oh, right.'

'Good job you both grew out of it. Otherwise I may have had to marry someone more mature, like Cormac McLaggen.'

'Oi!' snapped Harry, laughing along with her despite himself. 'Below the belt!' She just giggled some more.

'I'm not sure if I like this plan, though,' Harry continued once their laughter had subsided. 'For one thing it means letting Ron be horrible to Hermione and maybe even doing it myself in order to make sure she runs crying into the bathroom. And even that depends on a whole lot of things happening at the right time. She'd have to be in there on Hallowe'en, and I'd really have no control over that, nor which bathroom she runs to. There's also Quirrell letting in the troll, which will probably still happen but what if it doesn't? And what if it doesn't go into the bathroom where she is? A whole lot of things can go wrong, and if we don't end up saving her, we'll just be even worse off for having treated her so badly up until that point.'

'It's a risk,' Ginny admitted, 'but the alternative might be Hermione never making any friends at all. And even if it's not the same for you living it again and everything, she and Ron still need each other. You know they do.'

Harry let out a great sigh. 'You're right; of course you're right. This is going to be really difficult.'

'You can pull it off,' Ginny said confidently. 'It won't be the hardest thing you've ever done.'

'I hope so,' Harry said. 'I hate to think what might happen if I can't.'

There was a short pause as neither of them seemed to be able to think of anything to say. Then Ginny said, 'Well, I don't reckon we can do much else until we know how that works out. We should maybe hold off on planning more until we see how it goes.'

'Yeah, all right,' Harry agreed. Neither of them wanted to say goodnight, however. They stayed up talking for another hour and a half, Harry fitting in his remaining four declarations and then some. When they finally (and reluctantly) decided they needed to go back to bed, it was with a longing gaze and an agreement to meet at the same time the following week. Harry wanted to see her every day and send owls as well – so did Ginny – but they both agreed that would not be wise if they were trying to avoid drawing attention to themselves. They were risking enough as it was. By the time Harry finally managed to get back upstairs, the inky black sky was already starting to lighten the tiniest bit, and he was relieved to note that none of his dorm mates had chosen to rise particularly early that day.  
He was about to climb back into bed when he noticed something else – something he'd been forcing himself to ignore lest he do something he'd have a lot of trouble explaining. Scabbers, a.k.a. Peter Pettigrew, a.k.a. Wormtail the Death Eater, was sleeping lazily on Ron's bed. On the train he'd been so distracted by thoughts of Ginny that it had taken until halfway through the trip to notice the little rat, and a white hot spike of rage had flooded through him once he finally did. He'd quickly tamped it down, and had done his best since then to pay Ron's supposed pet as little attention as possible. Even now, the temptation to just grab the sleeping rat and wring his cowardly little neck was bubbling up inside of him. He knew it wasn't the time, but he also knew he'd have to come up with a better way of coping with sharing a dormitory with his parents' betrayer. For the time being, he made himself look away and rather more violently than was necessary pulled his bed curtains closed. Willing his mind back to thoughts of Ginny instead of the rat on the next bed, he managed to drift back to sleep.

~O~

The plan Harry and Ginny had worked out to befriend Hermione in the same manner as before began to fall apart the very next day. Harry was not able to bring himself to be cold or unkind toward Hermione, but had managed at least indifference. He reckoned that was the best he was going to be able to do.

The problem arose that morning in their first Potions lesson with Professor Snape. Like Flitwick, Snape paused when he reached Harry's name during the register, but his reaction was the disdain Harry had come to expect from the greasy Potions master over the years. Harry might have respected the man for what he did during the war, and felt a tiny bit sorry for him due to the devotion he held toward Harry's mother, but he would never like him. Snape was and always would be a bully, but now Harry was a grown man (in mind if not in body), he didn't have to take it anymore.

'Ah yes,' Snape said softly when he reached Harry's name. 'Harry Potter. Our new – _celebrity._ '

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle sniggered, and Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Snape finished the register and then went into a long speech about the power and subtlety of potion-making that probably would have been very impressive coming from anyone else. There was silence for a moment afterward, and Hermione was at the edge of her seat with anticipation. Then Snape jerked his head toward Harry.

'Potter!' he snapped. 'What would I get if I added powdered rood of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?'

' _Oh, right,'_ Harry thought to himself. He'd forgotten about this stunt Snape had pulled on his first day. Honestly, how pathetic. Something about the ingredients tugged at his memory, though.

'Hang on, I know this,' Harry said, playing for time while he tried to remember. Powdered root of asphodel and wormwood … he'd made something using those before … a textbook that had been scribbled all over came into his mind, followed by a tiny bottle of thick, golden liquid. 'Oh!' He exclaimed suddenly, ignoring Hermione's quivering hand next to him. 'It's the Draught of Living Death, isn't it?' he said. Snape looked taken aback; clearly he had not expected Harry to know this.

'Indeed,' he said reluctantly. 'Where would you look, Potter, if I asked you to find me a bezoar?'

Harry grinned. _That_ one he knew. 'A goat's stomach,' he said confidently. 'Or an apothecary, I suppose.'

Snape's lip curled in fury. This was obviously not going at all the way he had planned. He tried one more time. 'One more then, Potter. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?'

Now that was an easy one. Was Snape even trying anymore? 'They're the same plant, sir,' he said. Hermione, for the third time, lowered her hand in disappointment, but gave him an appraising look.

'Quite,' snarled Snape. 'However, I do not appreciate your cheek, Potter. That's one point from Gryffindor. And one more for showing off, I think.' He turned and stalked back toward the blackboard. Harry closed his eyes, expelled a deep breath through his nose, and tried to summon patience.

'I sincerely hope you were all writing that down,' he said to the class. There was a flurry for quills and ink. 'However, what Potter neglected to mention is that the Draught of Living Death is a powerful sleeping potion meant to simulate death. The primary use of a bezoar is poison antidote, and another name for wolfsbane is aconite. If you're going to show off, Potter, at least make sure you include all the relevant information.'

Shortly after this, Snape set them to work making a potion to cure boils. It was exceptionally simple compared to what he was used to, and by the time he finished he expected it was the best he'd ever performed in one of Snape's classes. Ron had loyally complained about how unfair Snape was soon after they got started.

'How can he accuse you of showing off when he asked you the questions in the first place?' he fumed. 'And what was he playing at singling you out with questions like that, anyway? It's like he _wanted_ you to get it wrong, and was upset when you didn't. D'you know, I expect if you hadn't known them, he'd have taken points off for not preparing or some such rubbish.'

Harry, who knew that to be true, managed a smile. 'I'm not worried about it,' he said. 'He can be a git all he likes; as long as I do all right in the class he can't really do anything, right? I don't expect Dumbledore would approve of Snape failing me just because he doesn't like me.'

'That's true, I suppose,' said Ron, crushing up some snake fangs. 'Why _doesn't_ he like you, though?'

'Search me,' Harry lied, tossing his horned slugs into his cauldron. 'I've never met him before. Maybe he didn't like my dad or something. People say I look like him.'

'That's a really stupid reason to not like somebody,' Ron replied. Harry had to agree.

Just then, Snape was interrupted from praising Malfoy's stewed horned slugs to the class by a cloud of acrid green smoke coming from Neville and Seamus's work station. Snape hustled over and started telling Neville off, eventually ordering Seamus to take him up to the Hospital wing. Snape then rounded on Harry.

'You – Potter – why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor.'

Ron seethed next to him as soon as Snape's back was turned, but Harry was left wondering just how damaged this man really was. Armed with insight he hadn't possessed during his initial experience, Harry could now see that Snape was projecting his feelings for Harry's father onto Harry himself. He expected Harry's actions and motivations to be the same as James's. But the more Harry thought about that, the more he began to wonder how much of Snape's opinion of James was warranted (Sirius and Remus had admitted, after all, that James could be a bit of a prat at times, and Harry had seen at least one incident for himself), and how much was based on Snape's own expectations of James's behavior. Harry already knew, after all, that James had not remained a bully forever, yet to hear Snape tell it that was all he'd ever been. Had it been purely jealousy over Lily that drove this colored vision of a man that by all other accounts had been for the most part a genuinely good person? Had James's own similar jealousy driven his unfair treatment of Snape?

These were all questions Harry was not likely to ever learn the answers to, but in a way they helped him keep his composure. He would never like Snape, that was certain, but understanding what made him such a nasty person at least made it easier not to hate him.

At lunch, Harry received a shock. Hermione asked quite timidly if she might sit with he and Ron at the Gryffindor table. On instinct, Harry told her that of course she could before he remembered what he and Ginny had discussed the night before. _'Too late now,_ ' he thought as Hermione sat down.

'That was really unfair what Professor Snape did to you this morning,' she said to Harry without preamble. 'Just because you knew the answers to his questions, I mean. Why would he ask you if he didn't want you to answer?'

'Ron reckons he wanted me to say I didn't know so he could lay into me for that,' Harry said, grabbing a sandwich.

'Why would he do that?' Hermione asked earnestly, helping herself to a sandwich as well.

'We were just wondering the same thing,' Ron said from Harry's other side. 'It's pretty obvious he doesn't like Harry for whatever reason – didn't go after anyone else, did he? Fred and George – they're my brothers – say he always favors Slytherin house, but they didn't say anything about him laying into students from other houses.'

'Like poor Neville,' said Hermione sadly. 'I mean honestly, it was our first potion! Not everyone was going to get it right on the first try. I saw some Slytherins whose potions didn't look any better than his. I think your brothers might be right.'

'I wonder if he'd have gone at you for not helping Neville if you hadn't known the answers, Harry?' Ron mused, chomping on some chips.

'Probably,' Harry said darkly, knowing it was true.

'How _did_ you know the answers, anyway?' Ron asked, as though the thought had just struck him. 'I mean, except for the monkshood/wolfsbane one, those weren't typical first-year questions, were they?'

'I don't think they were,' Hermione said. 'Bezoars are mentioned in our textbook of course, but not in anything we'll cover this year. Same with Draught of the Living Death.'

'Well, I didn't have much to do over the summer,' Harry said by way of explanation, hoping they would buy it. 'My relatives are Muggles, see, and they, er, don't like me very much. Our schoolbooks were actually really interesting to me since I'd never heard of magic before, so I read through most of them before we got here. I guess I remembered at least some of it.'

Ron looked shocked and Hermione looked impressed. 'It was the same for me,' she said. 'Of course I already told you that, didn't I? I suppose I'm just surprised I wasn't the only one.'

'Well, I didn't learn them off by heart of anything,' Harry joked good-naturedly. 'I'm not quite that bright.'

'You'd better not be,' Ron said. 'I don't know what I'd do if there were _two_ of you.'

Harry noticed that this comment made Hermione look very uncomfortable, and he remembered what Ginny had told him about her primary school experience. Better to put himself on her side now rather than isolate her.

'Cheer up, Ron,' he said. 'At least we'll be able to help you with homework, yeah?'

'Yeah?' said Ron, brightening up. 'I mean, I'd feel bad asking, but I suppose if you _offered…_ '

He trailed off and Harry laughed. He noticed Hermione seemed to be looking a bit more comfortable with the conversation again.

'I can only speak for myself,' Harry said, 'but I'll help you if I can. Dunno how much use I'll be, but we'll see. No copying, though.' He threw in that last bit knowing Hermione would approve. Ron looked disappointed for a moment and then shrugged.

'I guess that's fair,' he said. 'Don't look at a gift-owl's wings, after all.' He took another sandwich. 'Hey what time were we meeting Hagrid, again?'

'Three,' said Harry, checking the note Hagrid had sent him that morning inviting him for tea.

'Hagrid?' Hermione asked.

'He's the gamekeeper,' Ron explained. 'Big bloke we crossed the lake with the other night. Harry's friends with him apparently, and got invited for tea this afternoon. Said I could come. Want to join us?'

Harry immediately felt both very fond and proud of Ron. Hermione looked shocked at the invitation but managed to stammer that yes, she would like to come, and just like that Quirrell and his troll became irrelevant.

~O~O~O~

There were a few scene transitions in this one that I wasn't very fond of, but I eventually realized that I could sit around tweaking it forever and still possibly not be satisfied. Rather than devote maximum effort for minimum returns, I put an end to the procrastinating and called it done. Hope y'all like it.

Feedback is always appreciated; thank you in advance.


	3. Chapter 3

I have no opening remarks this time. However, it feels weird not to have anything up here. Hence, this.

~O~O~O~O~O~

~O~O~O~O~O~

'I thought we had a plan!' admonished Ginny exasperatedly Monday night in the fire. Harry had written to her over the weekend explaining that he and Ron had successfully made friends with Hermione, and she had written back to reschedule their Floo chat so that she could scold him properly.

'We did, we did,' Harry chuckled. 'But things just sort of worked out on their own. Was I supposed to just turn down a chance to make everything easier?'

'Well, no,' Ginny conceded, 'but I don't understand. How did this happen? I thought you and Ron couldn't stand Hermione for the first two months of school.'

'Well, that's just it, isn't it?' Harry said. 'Obviously I don't dislike Hermione this time around, and however much I might have tried to pretend otherwise, some of that must have shown through and Ron picked up on it, so he wasn't as harsh on her either. Plus we've only been here a week. There hasn't been much time to work up any real amount of dislike, I reckon.'

'That _sort_ of makes sense, I suppose,' Ginny said. 'But I still don't see how this all worked out so easily.'

'To be honest, I think we have Snape to thank for that,' Harry laughed. Ginny's look of incredulity only made him laugh harder.

'Snape?'

'Yeah. He was being his usual git self, trying to make a fool out of me by grilling me with a bunch of questions that no first-year should be expected to know in their first lesson. Of course I knew them all, so his plan backfired, but then he called me a know-it-all and took points off for "showing off".' Harry grinned and rolled his eyes while Ginny huffed indignantly. 'Thing is, I think Hermione thought I might be a kindred spirit or something, knowing all that stuff on the first day. She came up to us at lunch and said she thought it was really unfair, what Snape did, and I think Ron figured anyone willing to badmouth Snape couldn't be all bad. We talked about that for a bit and somehow it came up that we were visiting Hagrid that afternoon, and Ron asked if she wanted to come with us.'

' _Ron_ asked her?' Ginny repeated, shocked.

'I know, I was as surprised as you. Not really sure what he was playing at; maybe he was just being polite, or maybe he's decided he fancies her now he sees she doesn't like Snape. I really couldn't say. Made things easier, though. We all went down to Hagrid's, and it was fun. We did homework together over the weekend, and she helped Ron out – it was like old times,' Harry trailed off wistfully.

'Old times for you,' Ginny said. 'But if things between them are starting like this, who knows how differently things will go this time.'

'Better, I hope,' Harry said. 'If we really are stuck here, which it's looking more and more like we are, I think I'd rather avoid all the rows and not-speaking.'

'Wouldn't that be nice?' Ginny agreed wholeheartedly. There was a short pause, and then Harry remembered something else he wanted to tell her.

'Oh, guess what else happened today?' he said.

'What?'

'Announcements for flying lessons were posted. We start on Thursday.' He grinned.

'Oh!' Ginny exclaimed, then she grinned as well. 'Do you intend to put in a repeat performance?' She was referring, of course, to his first flying lesson in which Harry had thoroughly shown up Malfoy, saved Neville's Remembrall, and earned himself a spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch team in lieu of punishment.

'I don't see why not,' he said, still smiling, 'as long as Malfoy acts as horribly as last time, which seems likely. Besides, it would be nice to play Quidditch again.'

'You're telling me,' Ginny moaned. 'All I have here are Bill and Charlie's old brooms that they left behind when they moved away, and they're _terrible._ On par with the school brooms.'

'I could send you a new one,' Harry offered.

'You're sweet,' Ginny beamed. 'That would likely lead to awkward questions with Mum and Dad, though. They'd surely want to know where I got it.'

'Right, I hadn't thought about that.'

'It's all right,' Ginny reassured him. 'If you can put up with your horrid relatives I can put up with not having a proper broom. What we do need to do is come up with a better way of talking to one another. Mum and Dad are bound to notice I've been filching Floo powder, even if neither of us is caught wandering around in the middle of the night.'

'I wish we had a set of two-way mirrors like Sirius had,' Harry mused.

'That would be nice,' said Ginny wistfully. 'I wouldn't even know where to look, though. Dervish and Banges might have a set, if you can manage to sneak into Hogsmeade to buy them.'

Harry gave her a look as if to say, ' _Please.'_

'Right,' Ginny chortled. 'Forgot who I was talking to.'

'Just what a bloke loves to hear from his fiancée,' Harry joked, pretending to be offended. 'That's a good idea, though,' Harry went on, getting excited about the prospect already. 'And if they don't have any, I can apparate down to Diagon Alley and try my luck there.'

'Oh, I wish I had a wand,' Ginny groaned. 'I could meet you there. I miss you _so_ much.' Harry opened his mouth to say that as long as he was sneaking out and apparating across the country illegally, he might as well pop by the orchard out behind the Burrow while he was at it, but as soon as he thought of it he knew it would be a terrible idea. The possibility of getting caught would grow with every additional excursion he made, and he knew very well that if he saw Ginny in person, there was no way on Earth he would be able to restrict himself to a quick visit.

'I know, love,' he said soothingly. 'I miss you too. Painfully. But if we met up we'd never bring ourselves to split up again, and that could lead to all kinds of problems. Plus, we'll both have the trace on us again. They're not likely to notice anything out of the ordinary unless they're specifically looking for it, but every second I'm out there will be another second someone might notice something accidentally. I don't think we should push our luck any more than we have to.'

'You're right, of course,' Ginny pouted. 'I just really need to see you. I can't even get Ron to invite you to stay over Christmas, because Mum and Dad have decided we're going to visit Charlie in Romania.'

Harry's heart sank. He had been hoping for a chance to spend Christmas at the Burrow, though he knew he hadn't done so during his first year the last time. He'd forgotten why until just now. 'Well, there's still Easter hols,' he said in an effort to cheer the two of them up.

'That's true,' said Ginny, but she still seemed rather down. 'I'll have to remember to drop some hints to Ron once winter term begins. Do you remember why you didn't visit last time?'

'I don't,' said Harry, who had just been trying to recollect that very thing. 'This is incredibly frustrating. I need a Pensieve like Dumbledore's got.'

'If two-way mirrors are hard to find, that's got to be near impossible. I wouldn't even know where to _begin_ looking,' said Ginny.

'Something else to put on the list then,' Harry said with an attempt at a smile. 'We should go now, though. Much as I'd like to stay here looking at you and talking to you all night long, we're sort of pushing our luck as it is. I can't believe how deserted the common room has been every time I've come down here so far.'

'You're right,' Ginny sighed. 'I'm sure I don't need to tell you, but wait until the weekend to sneak out to look for those mirrors. I can hold out until then if you can. I'll want a letter telling me how flying lessons went, though.'

'Anything you want,' Harry promised her. 'Love you.'

'Love you.'

And she was gone. Harry buried the disappointment and loneliness and trudged back up the stairs. The prospect of procuring them a set of mirrors to talk through buoyed his spirits a little, but the fact was that ever since they'd come in contact again, it had become even harder to sleep without Ginny as opposed to easier. Harry now put a silencing charm around his bed every night. The nightmares that had started coming back over the summer were reasserting themselves in full force and had become almost a nightly occurrence. Harry did not doubt that he would soon be waking himself up screaming again – something that had not happened since Ginny had permanently moved in a little over a year ago. He sincerely hoped she was not having the same problem, but if he were completely honest with himself, he rather thought she probably was. That tore at him as much as anything. His own suffering he could endure – he'd certainly done it before – but to not be able to comfort Ginny when she needed him was the worst kind of torture. Almost as bad was the knowledge that she was most assuredly thinking the exact same thing about him.

~O~

The second week at Hogwarts went much quicker than the first. Now he had both of his best friends back – in a manner of speaking – Harry found his situation was mildly easier to bear. Every time he thought that though, he felt guilty, since he knew Ginny was cooped up at the Burrow alone without even a wand.

Additionally, Harry was convinced he was right about Hermione considering him something of a kindred spirit. Try as he might to look as though he were being challenged, it truly was quite difficult to hide just how easy the assignments were for him in every subject. He knew that to an outside observer it would definitely look like things just came naturally to him, and that he paid very good attention in class, because the only one outperforming him on anything was Hermione. This had the entirely unexpected side effect of causing Ron to try harder in classes than Harry could ever remember him doing before. It would seem that having not one but two best friends at the top of the year had a galvanizing effect on him – or perhaps he just didn't want to appear simple in comparison.

Harry's academic success had an effect on Malfoy as well, so that by the time the Gryffindors met the Slytherins for their first flying lesson on Thursday, he was being outwardly hostile to just about everyone who crossed his path.

Still, he was nothing if not predictable, and when Neville lost control of his broom and had to be carted off to the Hospital Wing by Madam Hooch, Malfoy picked up his dropped Remembrall and laughed.

'Give it here, Malfoy,' said Harry quietly, knowing full well that he was only goading the Slytherin. The rest of the class fell silent, and Malfoy smiled nastily.

'I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect – how about – up a tree?'

'Give it here,' Harry said more forcefully, holding out his hand. Malfoy instead leapt onto his broom and took off into the air, exactly as Harry had known he would. He had to suppress a smirk.

'Come and get it, Potter!'

Harry casually grabbed his broom and was about to swing his leg over it when Hermione grabbed his elbow.

' _No!'_ she shouted. 'Madam Hooch told us not to move – you'll get us all into trouble.'

'Just me,' Harry shrugged. 'And I'd rather I get in trouble than let Malfoy push people around.' Hermione blinked as though this had never occurred to her, and in her moment of distraction Harry took off into the air.

It was his first time flying since coming back in time, and it felt like a balm on his soul. As had always been the case, all his worries and troubles seemed a little smaller when he was up in the air, free as a bird.

Malfoy, for his part, looked stunned. Harry couldn't blame him. However good he'd been his first time on a broom, he now had about thirteen years of experience and practice under his belt, and unlike his school subjects he wasn't making much effort here to mask his ability.

'Give it here,' said Harry in a calm fury, 'or I'll knock you off your broom.'

Malfoy was visibly unnerved, but managed to collect himself within a second or two.

'Oh yeah?' he sneered, trying to sound tough but not quite pulling it off.

Harry made a dash for him, making sure to leave enough time for Malfoy to only just get out of the way. He heard a collective gasp from the class on the ground.

'Last chance, Malfoy.'

'Catch it if you can, then!' Malfoy cried, and tossed it high into the air before shooting back toward the ground.

Harry followed the Remembrall's arc with his eyes for a moment before diving after it. He seemed to remember making more of a vertical dive when he'd done this before, but whether it be from experience or just different positioning, he had a slightly better angle this time around, so that when he caught it a few feet off the ground he was able to level off and make a smooth landing. The class erupted in cheers, followed almost immediately by the bellowing voice of Professor McGonagall.

'HARRY POTTER!'

Harry faked a wince and did his absolute best to look terrified and contrite as his head of house hauled him off, knowing that if he appeared even the slightest bit pleased with himself she would change her mind and decide to punish him after all.

Despite his housemates trying to explain the situation (for which he was grateful – he was quite fond of them all, truly), McGonagall dragged him into the castle just as she had done before, and by that afternoon Harry was once again the youngest Seeker in a century. At least one thing had gone the way it was supposed to, he thought, as he crafted a blow-by-blow letter to Ginny and gave it to Hedwig with the usual instructions to only deliver it when no one else was around.

That evening at dinner, after Harry had related the full tale of his conversation with Wood to Ron and Hermione, and the twins had stopped by to congratulate him, Malfoy came by to taunt him, clearly under the impression that Harry had been expelled, or at the very least given detention.

'Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting back to the Muggles?'

'You're a lot braver now you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you,' said Harry coolly, gesturing to Crabbe and Goyle with his fork without even looking up from his mince pie.

'I'd take you on any time on my own,' said Malfoy. 'Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only – no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?'

Harry inwardly started. He'd completely forgotten about this fiasco. Before he could reply telling Malfoy to get stuffed, however, Ron answered for him.

'Of course he has,' he said, wheeling around. 'I'm his second, who's yours?'

Malfoy sized up his two cronies for a moment before deciding on Crabbe. 'Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room, that's always unlocked.' He turned and stalked off without waiting for a reply, Crabbe and Goyle thumping along in his wake.

'You can't be serious,' Hermione chided angrily from across the table. She narrowed her eyes at him. 'You already got lucky once today; it's practically a miracle you didn't get in trouble for flying without permission, let alone got rewarded for it. But this would be serious rule-breaking.'

'Hermione,' Ron started, annoyed, but Harry waved him down.

'Of course I'm not going,' he said off-handedly, turning back to his mince pie. It was hard to say whether Ron or Hermione looked more shocked at this announcement.

'But…' Ron sputtered, 'You can't let Malfoy – '

'I'm not letting Malfoy do anything,' Harry said firmly. He remembered now exactly how this had played out – right down to their accidental discovery of Fluffy, and if he could keep his friends out of that whole affair altogether, so much the better. 'Do you think he's actually going to be there?'

Ron was taken aback by this question.

'What?'

'Think about it, Ron,' Harry explained. 'What are he and I going to be able to do besides shoot sparks at each other? He knows that; and I'm betting he was counting on Gryffindors to never turn down a challenge. My bet is he tips off Filch or Snape or somebody that he heard some students talking about meeting in the trophy room tonight, hoping to get us in trouble.'

Ron thought about his for a moment, before a light seemed to switch on in his brain.

'That little…!' He growled. 'That is the sort of thing he'd do, isn't it?'

Harry nodded. 'I just figure, why play into it? We act like we're going to go, and then tomorrow morning we just come to breakfast like nothing's wrong and get to see him try to figure out why we don't have a dozen detentions.'

'What if he does turn up and we don't, though?' Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. 'Who's he going to tell? His Slytherin mates? Not like they think much of us as it is, yeah?'

Ron seemed to accept this line of reasoning, albeit grudgingly, and Hermione looked very impressed.

'You had me worried for a moment,' she finally said.

'Come on,' Harry grinned, reaching for an apple tart. 'If I'm going to get in trouble for being reckless, it's not going to be because of _Malfoy_ tricking me into it _._ ' The derision with which he spoke the Slytherin's name made Ron laugh, and even Hermione managed a small smile.

Sure enough, when they came down to breakfast next morning, Malfoy seemed utterly shocked to see them looking so cheerful. Ron laughed and clapped Harry on the back, congratulating him for predicting Malfoy's plan.

'He was kind of obvious,' Harry said modestly, knowing full well that his younger self had fallen for the deception completely.

'It really was rather clever of you, Harry,' Hermione said, sitting down with them at the breakfast table. 'For a moment you had me worried you were going to be all hot-blooded like this one.' She gestured with her spoon to Ron, but Harry thought he detected a hint of teasing in her voice. Now that was interesting.

'Oi!' said Ron indignantly. 'I was just trying to back him up is all.'

'I know, I know,' Hermione placated. 'And I'm sure Harry appreciates it. But perhaps in future you should think things through a little further before jumping in.'

Ron grumbled, but sat down and dug into his breakfast rather than argue.

'He's got us for that,' Harry said casually, buttering his toast.

At that moment a distraction came in the form of Neville, who showed up late to breakfast looking distinctly haggard, and with streaks on his face as though he'd been crying.

'Blimey!' exclaimed Ron after gulping down a mouthful of porridge. 'What happened, Neville?'

'I couldn't remember the password to get into bed last night,' Neville explained miserably. Hermione gasped in sympathy and Harry closed his eyes in guilt. He'd completely forgotten that Neville had been with them when they first discovered Fluffy, and hadn't even noticed that the blond boy hadn't been in their dormitory the night before.

'Where did you sleep?' Ron asked. 'The hospital wing?'

Neville shook his head as he sat down. 'I probably should have gone back there, but I didn't even think of it. I just slept in the corner outside the portrait.'

'Oh, Neville,' said Hermione sympathetically. Ron turned a snort into a cough. Harry felt terrible.

'We're sorry, Neville,' he said, including Ron in his apology. 'We should've noticed you weren't in the dormitory.' Harry had of course known he wasn't down in the common room either, having written his letter to Ginny down there.

'You should try to make sure to always come up with someone else, to be safe,' Ron advised. 'I mean, I know you were coming from the hospital wing by yourself this time, but in general.'

'I usually do,' Neville said. 'But I couldn't find anyone last night.'

'Well, if it ever happens again, we'll be on the lookout,' Harry assured him. 'If you're not in by curfew, we'll come out to check, okay?'

'Thanks, Harry,' Neville smiled wetly.

They offered to wait with him while he finished his breakfast, but he waved them along, saying that he needed to run back up to the tower afterwards anyway, as he'd forgotten his textbooks. After making sure he knew the password was 'pig snout', they left him and went off to class.

Neville's misfortune had been the biggest reminder yet that Harry's memories were not perfect. He knew there were bound to be many more little things like that which would slip through the proverbial cracks. And of course eventually, things would be so different in this new timeline that his memories would do him little good even if he _could_ recall them all. It was not a very cheery thought, but then again he had little of those these days. The only thing that brightened his mood was the return letter from Ginny he received late that evening. He read it in his four-poster by wandlight.

 _Dear Harry_

 _You just couldn't resist showing off, could you?_

Harry grinned, recognizing her teasing tone even in a letter.

 _Glad to hear everything went as expected. I wish I could watch you play. When will you be getting your broom, do you remember? It was a Nimbus 2000, right? Kind of a step back from a Firebolt, but we can't be picky, I suppose._

 _Were you planning to go out and look for mirrors this weekend? I want you to be careful, Harry. Quite apart from getting in trouble for being outside school without permission, we don't need people to realize how much magic you're capable of, nor that you have someone you need two-way mirrors to communicate with. I'm sure you've thought of all this already, you great Auror, you, but I still worry. Promise me you'll be careful. I mean, I know I won't hear back from you before you go out looking, but promise in your mind right now. I'll trust you._

Harry did just that, concentrating on Ginny and just how much he missed her, and swore to her that he would be as careful as humanly possible.

 _Mum's driving me spare. She's trying to keep up with my lessons on writing and maths and everything, which of course I already know. She's now under the impression that I'm very gifted, and that I've been keeping it quiet all these years so as not to emasculate my brothers. And of course she wants me to help around the house, but I've mostly avoided that by saying I'm really interested in all the household charms she uses and asking how they work, so she's been demonstrating a lot. It's a good way to avoid the work and I've actually learned quite a bit. I never really bothered with a lot of this stuff before. Why, I could end up being an ideal little wifey if I wanted, though you'd better not be getting any such ideas, mister. I'll teach them all to you as well. They're dead useful._

 _I miss you so much. I miss everyone, really. It's incredibly lonely here. I've thought of getting in touch with Luna, since she lives just over the hills, but I can't figure out how to go about it. We never really knew each other until Hogwarts, so I'd need some kind of excuse for going over there and so far I haven't come up with anything. Let me know if you have any ideas, because I miss her almost as much as I miss you._

 _I hope you find some mirrors. I can't wait to talk to you without having to sneak out in the middle of the night. I love you, and I know you'll keep your promise._

 _Love always,_

 _Ginny_

Harry sighed before carefully placing the letter in his trunk with the others. He went back to sleep, his head filled with thoughts of Ginny, but they'd morphed into nightmares again by the time he woke up next morning.

Giving Ron and Hermione the slip turned out to be harder than he thought. There was nothing he could come up with as an excuse to go off by himself. The only person he'd have reason to visit would be Hagrid, and any homework he had, they would have as well. He didn't have anyone to send letters to (that they knew of), and if he claimed to need the hospital wing they'd surely want to come along to make sure he was all right.

Finally, he just told them that he hadn't slept well the night before, and that he needed a lie-down, and that he'd join them out on the grounds later in the day.

'Don't worry about it,' he told Hermione, when she fretted about starting their homework without him. 'I can catch up. And if you really don't want to start without me, why not just have a walk around the grounds? Visit Hagrid? It'll be fine.'

Ron and Hermione deemed this acceptable, and went outside to enjoy some of the last good weekend weather they were likely to get until spring. Meanwhile, Harry darted to the large mirror at the end of a fourth-floor corridor which he knew concealed a hidden passage to Hogsmeade. He'd never used it before, as it had caved in before he learned of its existence, but he was curious where it let out, and Fred and George had seemed reasonably certain Filch did not know about it.

Wishing more than ever that he had his cloak and his map, Harry surreptitiously examined the frame of the mirror. He ran his hands along the ornate carvings, wondering if he would need a password. Suddenly he felt something like a mild depression, as though the place where his thumb now rested had been pressed multiple times over the centuries. He looked and saw that it was the head of a unicorn, and upon close inspection, there was the tiniest hint of separation from the rest of the animal's body. Looking around one last time to be sure no one was near, he pressed the unicorn's head, and the mirror swung back the slightest bit, so that it resembled a door that was barely ajar.

Quick as a fox, Harry pushed open the mirror wide enough to slip through – it was much easier with his smaller, eleven year-old frame – and dashed into the passage beyond, snapping the mirror shut again behind him.

' _Lumos_ ,' he whispered, illuminating the tunnel. He saw that it continued forward several yards before descending into what he could only assume was a staircase. Along the walls here and there were scattered carvings – the graffiti of several centuries' worth of Hogwarts troublemakers. Glancing at the carvings, wondering if he could spot anything Fred and George had left behind (for he was sure they would have done so), Harry stopped short when his light came upon a crude carving of four animals: one much smaller than the other three, and one with what could only be antlers coming out of its head.

A wave of emotion washed over Harry, and he wondered why Fred and George had never mentioned this to him before, before realizing that even if they had seen it, they wouldn't have known what it meant. It would have held no more significance to them than any other bit of graffiti in this place.

Tracing his hands over the three bigger animals, Harry allowed himself a sad smile before taking his wand and inscribing a small lightning bolt below the carving of the marauders. It wasn't close enough that anyone seeing it would think it was meant to be part of the same image, but he would know.

Not wanting to dawdle any more than necessary, Harry pressed on. The staircase leading down at the end of the passageway was quite long – which made sense as he was going from the fourth floor all the way underground – and filled with left turns. By the time he reached the straight corridor at the bottom, Harry reckoned he must have gone a full three hundred sixty degrees a good six or seven times. He took a moment to transfigure his hair light brown, alter the shape of his glasses and conjure a cap that would obscure his scar. Confident that no one who wasn't specifically looking for him would recognize him, he set off once more into the passageway.

The tunnel into Hogsmeade itself was quite as long as either of the others he'd traversed – no surprise there – and ended in a low, sloping path that came to an abrupt halt at a near-vertical stone staircase. It was almost a ladder, Harry thought, climbing up until he reached what appeared to be a dead end. The last step was larger – almost a landing – but there was nothing beyond it. He was surrounded by stone on all four sides in a space no larger than a telephone box.

Wishing he'd bothered to ask Fred and George about this passage at some point – or better yet that he'd just taken one he was already familiar with – Harry began examining the slab of stone in front of him. It was hard to maneuver his wand properly in the confined space, but he managed to shine light on all parts of the stone and found nothing. No unicorn or any other such markings to indicate a means of opening a passage.

Thinking he'd try the obvious first, he placed his wand tip on the stone wall and quietly said, ' _Aperio'._ Apparently the opening charm was all he needed, since the slab immediately began sliding to one side. He carefully stepped out and looked around, finding himself in a small alcove just behind the entrance to the bathrooms at the Three Broomsticks.

Considering himself fortunate that no one had needed to pee at the exact moment he'd chosen to reveal himself, Harry charmed the door shut once more and made his way into the pub proper. It wasn't particularly busy, but he was able to make his way through it and out the front door without attracting attention to himself. Coming back this way might prove more difficult, as he was more likely to be noticed entering the pub than leaving it, but he'd worry about that later.

The village of Hogsmeade was much as he remembered it; not much had really changed over the years, even after the war. Still, there were enough minor differences – so minor he couldn't even pinpoint what they were – for him to tell the difference between this Hogsmeade and the Hogsmeade he knew from his own time.

He quickly made his way down the High Street, not wanting to take any more time than absolutely necessary. Entering Dervish and Banges, he looked around at the myriad artefacts and knickknacks they carried, and decided the most expedient thing to do would be to simply ask someone about what he was looking for.

'Excuse me?' he said to the middle-aged man behind the counter. The man looked up from the newspaper he'd been reading and greeted Harry with an air of confusion.

'Shouldn't you be in school?' he asked.

'I'm too young,' Harry said. 'I don't start 'til next year.'

'I see,' said the clerk, appearing to accept this. 'How can I help you today?'

'Well,' said Harry, beginning the story he had prepared, 'My uncle used to have this really neat set of two-way mirrors. He showed me once. He could talk to whoever had the other one whenever he wanted. And, well, my best mate's a year older than me, see, and he's already at Hogwarts. I was hoping maybe you had something like that I could use to talk to him?'

The man rubbed his chin. 'Two-way mirrors, you say? We have had a few pairs in here over the years. Not sure if we have any at the moment. Let me check.' He reached under his desk and pulled out a massive tome, which Harry could only assume was some kind of inventory ledger. He waved his wand over it and muttered a few words, and the pages flew by rapidly, the man's eyes darting back and forth across them like he was watching a tennis match on fast-forward. Finally the flipping pages ceased, and the man shook his head.

'Sorry, none in stock at the moment,' he said. 'They're not exactly common. If you like, I could special order them for you. I'm sure I could find a pair somewhere.'

The idea was appealing; it was much easier than doing all the legwork himself, anyway. The only downside was that he would have to wait however long it took for the man to track down a pair.

'That'd be great,' said Harry happily, playing his role. 'How long d'you think it'll take to find some?'

'That depends,' said the man, 'on who has them, and whether I have the good fortune of contacting them first. It will raise the price a bit, though,' he added, looking as though he thought this might concern Harry.

'That's no problem,' Harry waved him off. 'I got a lot of money for my birthday. No one in my family seems to know how to shop for presents, so I always just get gold.'

'All right, then. I can send word to you if I find a pair.'

Ah, now that was a snag Harry had not foreseen. He knew the man was about to ask his name so as to be able to send him an owl, and giving a fake name would not work.

'I'll send you my owl,' Harry said quickly, before the man could continue. 'She never has anything to do; she'll be excited. You can send her back when you find some and tell me the price, and then I'll send you the money.'

'All right,' said the man, a little shocked but not arguing the point. 'Who'll I be sending it to, then?' he asked kindly.

'Oh, right!' Harry exclaimed, as though this had only just occurred to him. 'My name's Vernon. Vernon Dudley,' he said, using the alias he sometimes used for undercover work.

'Okay then, Vernon, I'm Mr Dervish,' he said. 'Go ahead and send me your owl and I'll send her on back once I've found some mirrors for you.'

'Thanks a lot!' Harry cried, turning to run out of the shop as he imagined an excited ten year-old would. He started heading back toward the Three Broomsticks, but halfway there he decided it was a bit risky, so made for the Shrieking Shack, instead. The supposed "most haunted structure in Britain" was sealed up tight of course, but Harry had known for a long time how to get in and out, so didn't need to guess or deduce this time. He made his way along the earthy tunnel much easier than he ever remembered doing before, until he realized that was because he was so small he didn't need to duck or crouch under the low ceiling.

Reaching up to press the freezing knot on the Whomping Willow before poking out his head to surreptitiously peer around, he was unsurprised to see that most people were giving the tree a wide berth. Pausing briefly to transfigure himself back to his normal appearance, and praying that no one was looking out the window directly at him, Harry dashed out of the tunnel and away from the tree as quickly as possible, moving to blend in with the various students milling about on the grounds. In less than five minutes he found Ron and Hermione lounging under a beech tree and went to join them, pretending to have just risen from a very refreshing nap.

~O~

That evening, he penned a letter to Mr Dervish, introducing Hedwig as his owl and thanking him for tracking down a pair of mirrors. Hermione was busy helping Ron with a Transfiguration assignment, so neither looked up when he left the common room headed for the owlery.

'When he sends you back, it's going to be addressed to Vernon Dudley, but that's me, okay?' Harry explained to Hedwig as he tied the letter to her leg. She gave a soft hoot to show she understood, and then Harry stroked her feathers and carried her to the window where she took off into the twilight.

He did not hear back from Mr Dervish for several days, which turned out to be a good thing, as he discovered that Thursday morning. The post came during breakfast as it always did, and everyone's attention was on the long, thin package that several owls were carrying to Harry at the Gryffindor table, so nobody noticed the letter Hedwig dropped for him at the same time, addressed to Vernon Dudley. Momentarily panic-stricken, Harry snatched it out of sight hurriedly as Ron and Hermione bent to look over what he knew to be his new broomstick.

He briefly read the note that came with it, then passed it to Ron and Hermione, who were looking wildly curious. Ron groaned when he read it. 'A Nimbus Two-Thousand! I've never even _touched_ one.'

Ron was eager to unwrap the package, so they finished breakfast quickly and headed back upstairs, but were waylaid by Malfoy – flanked as always by Crabbe and Goyle – who snatched the package from Harry's hand and felt it.

'That's a broomstick,' he said, throwing it back to Harry with a mixture of spite and envy on his face. 'You'll be in for it this time, Potter, first-years aren't allowed them.'

Ron couldn't resist taunting Malfoy about what type of broom it was, and Harry (and Hermione too, he noticed) had trouble not rolling his eyes at the argument that ensued. It was quickly broken up by the appearance of Professor Flitwick, however.

'Not arguing, I hope, boys?' he squeaked, looking between Ron and Malfoy.

'Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor,' Malfoy said at once.

'Yes, yes, that's right,' said Flitwick, beaming at Harry. 'Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?'

'A Nimbus Two-Thousand, sir,' fighting back a laugh at the look on Malfoy's face. 'And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it.'

The three friends continued upstairs after that, no longer concealing their laughter at Malfoy's obvious rage and confusion.

'It is true, after all,' Harry laughed. 'If he hadn't been bullying Neville I wouldn't be on the team.'

'I still think you were incredibly lucky not to get in trouble, Harry,' said Hermione evenly.

'I'm not disagreeing with you,' Harry replied, though that was more based on how he'd felt the first time, since this time he had of course known exactly what would happen. 'But I still say it would have been worth it even if I had. I don't like bullies.'

'I suppose that's fair,' Hermione sighed. 'I just hope you don't make a habit of breaking rules, expecting to get away with it.'

'I make no promises,' said Harry, suppressing a grin. He noticed the ghost of a smile on Hermione's face as well, and felt a pang of sadness. It was her birthday, he knew, but he had no way of explaining how he knew that. He had hoped that she would have felt comfortable enough around him and Ron by now to have said something, but apparently he had been mistaken. He didn't like the idea that Hermione didn't feel confident enough in their friendship to mention her own birthday, and he had to wonder if it was because of what Ginny had told him about her being afraid to trust people. He had never known this side of Hermione, since by the time they had become friends before, she had no reason not to trust his sincerity. Maybe Ginny had been right, and the three of them _did_ need something big to pull them together. Had he inadvertently ruined everything?

They met Parvati and Lavender on their way back out of the portrait hole from stashing the broomstick under Harry's bed.

'Was that another birthday present, Hermione?' Parvati asked. Ron jerked his head around and Hermione was looking suddenly embarrassed.

'Er, no, it was for Harry, actually,' she muttered.

'Ooh, what did you get, Harry?' Lavender asked.

'Haven't opened it yet,' he said simply, shrugging and nervously watching Hermione, who looked as though she wanted to crawl away and hide somewhere, and Ron, who was watching her shrewdly.

'Hope it's something nice,' Parvati said. 'See you lot in class.' The two girls climbed into the common room and Ron rounded on Hermione.

'It's your birthday?' he asked, sounding mildly flummoxed, as though he couldn't imagine why she had not shared this information. Hermione merely nodded. 'Why didn't you say anything?'

'Well,' she stammered, 'I didn't really think it was a big deal.'

'Birthdays are always a big deal,' Harry said. 'Well, except in my family,' he added. 'Reckon the best gift I ever got from them was a pair of old socks. But you should have mentioned it; we'd have gotten you something.' Ron was nodding in agreement.

'I didn't want you to think you had to, or anything,' she explained.

'" _Had_ to"?' Ron repeated. 'Of course we don't _have_ to. That's not why you get someone a birthday present,' he said, as though explaining a concept as basic as putting on trousers.

'Ron's right, we'd have gotten you something 'cause you're our friend,' Harry added. Hermione went – if possible – even pinker, but she now looked rather more pleased than embarrassed.

'Well it's too late now,' she said, sounding almost disappointed.

'No it isn't, we'll just get you something now and deliver it a bit late, is all,' Harry said.

'Right, no problem,' said Ron. 'We should go visit Hagrid again this afternoon, too.' Harry thought this was an excellent idea; Hagrid would want to wish her a happy birthday too. By the time they arrived at their first lesson of the day, Hermione was looking positively cheerful.

That evening, Harry asked Ron if he wanted to go in on a gift for Hermione's birthday.

'Sure, but,' he paused awkwardly, 'I haven't got, you know, much money.'

'That's all right,' said Harry. 'Just give me what you can and I'll make up the difference.'

'Have you got an idea, then?' Ron asked.

'I think so,' replied Harry, who of course knew exactly the sorts of things Hermione would like, and had in fact seen something perfect for her while in Dervish and Banges. 'It's not too expensive, but I think she'll like it. I can send Hedwig with some money to get it.'

'All right, as long as it's not too expensive,' said Ron, handing over some silver. 'I don't want to say it's from both of us unless I'm actually helping to pay for it.'

Harry sent Hedwig off with Ron's money, as well as his own share of Hermione's present and the gold Mr Dervish had quoted him for the mirror. He included another letting explaining his second purchase, and this time remembered to repeat his instructions to Hedwig to make the return delivery to him and him alone. He then had to run down to the Quidditch pitch for his first training session, which he'd almost completely forgotten about. Wood would be 'showing him the ropes', and Harry privately wished he could just say he already knew all about Quidditch, but knew that would cause more headaches for him in the long run.

He listened attentively as Wood explained the rules to a game he'd played for half his life, and dutifully chased after thrown golf balls until it was too dark to see. He was pleased to be flying again, which was good, because otherwise he was sure he would have looked bored. In any case, Wood was practically skipping when they returned to the castle after packing up.

The following day seemed to drag – in part because he was stuck in double Potions again – but mostly because he hadn't spoken to Ginny in nearly a week, and he couldn't wait for night to fall so Hedwig could deliver his mirrors. Then he still had to wait for her to get one to Ginny.

Snape was being his typical nasty self, but by this point Harry had become quite adept at tuning him out. As long as he answered questions when directly addressed and brewed his potions properly, the lessons didn't really bother him as they once had. In fact, he found his experiences from much more advanced Potions lessons simplified the process remarkably on such basic brews, and he was able to concentrate on the theory for what felt like the first time in his life. He found himself actually understanding _why_ certain ingredients did what they did, and absently wondered if this was what Hermione felt like all the time.

That evening, Hedwig returned while Harry was up in the dormitory getting changed, Peeves having dumped a bottle of purple ink over his head on the way back from dinner. She brought with her the mirrors and Hermione's birthday present.

'Good girl,' Harry said fondly as he stroked her feathers, fed her some owl treats and gave her some water. 'Do you think you can manage a trip to Ginny's tonight after a short rest?'

She hooted disdainfully and gazed at him in indignation that he would doubt her abilities. He couldn't help but chuckle.

'What am I saying, of course you can,' he said, and she appeared mollified. 'I just meant that it would be okay to take a break if you wanted to.'

In reply, she held out her leg, as if to say that she most certainly needed no such thing. Harry laughed again, and after rewrapping one of the mirrors and attaching some hastily-scribbled instructions on how to use it (he was sure Ginny knew, but just in case), he retied it to Hedwig's proffered leg.

'This'll probably be the last one for a while, so you can stay the night with Ginny if you want or come back to the Owlery if you'd prefer.' She hooted again, nipped his finger affectionately and took off out of the window she'd flown in through only minutes before.

Harry then went back down to join Ron and Hermione in the common room, carrying Hermione's present with him.

'You've still got a bit in your hair, mate,' Ron chuckled, referring to the purple ink. Hermione suppressed a giggle.

'Maybe I'll keep it,' Harry grinned, sitting down in the armchair across from them. 'Makes me stand out a bit, yeah?'

'Because you've always had a problem doing that,' said Ron.

'I know. Completely anonymous. It's like I don't even exist. Happy birthday, by the way, Hermione,' he said, handing the wrapped package to her.

'Oh, thank you, Harry!' she exclaimed happily, taking it from him.

'It's from Ron, too,' Harry explained. 'Hedwig just now turned up with it while I was upstairs.'

'Thank you both,' she said, turning to Ron and giving him a brief hug, which caused his ears to go red. Harry fought back a smirk.

'Open it up, then,' said Ron, in what Harry thought was a valiant effort at keeping his composure. Hermione did, and unveiled a circular magnifying glass with no handle.

'It's a Spelling Glass,' Harry explained. 'When you look through it, it'll reveal any spelling mistakes, and even things like punctuation and grammar. It's supposed to be great for essays.'

'Oh, this is wonderful!' Hermione cheered. 'It'll make looking over my homework so much easier. Thank you!' She smiled brightly at the two of them and Ron's ears went pink again.

'I wasn't actually sure about it when Harry suggested it,' said Ron. 'It's not like you ever make any mistakes anyway.'

It was Hermione's turn to go pink this time. 'Oh, of course I do. I try to be careful, but sometimes I just write too fast. This will be so much nicer than having to read through everything a second time to make sure.' She held it out over her homework on the table and began to look over it at once.

They went to bed after finishing the rest of the homework they'd been assigned (Hermione was so excited to try out her new Spelling Glass that she even helped them finish it so that she could look over it for mistakes). Harry made sure he had his mirror with him when he silenced his bed curtains. He then cast impervious, imperturbable, and unbreakable charms on it. He planned to keep it under his pillow, and didn't want to accidentally break or otherwise damage it.

He thought he'd have to go to sleep and wait for Ginny to wake him up, but it turned out she was just as impatient as he was.

'Harry,' called her voice from under his head. He very quickly sat up and reached under the pillow to retrieve the mirror. Putting on his glasses, he looked to see her beautiful face staring back at him.

'Hi,' he said breathlessly.

'Hi,' she replied in kind. 'Merlin, it's good to see you, Harry. And no fires or anything else. I can talk to you from my room for as long as we want.'

'I know,' said Harry, unable to keep the face-splitting grin off his face. 'I'd better be careful, though. I'm sure people would start to notice if I showed up to class half-asleep every day.'

'True. And Mum would likely notice as well. Should we institute a two-hour limit?' Ginny suggested.

'Sounds like a good idea,' Harry nodded. 'Starting tomorrow.' Ginny laughed, and Harry's heart soared with the sound.

For the first hour, they just talked about how their repeat lives were going. Harry told her about Quidditch, and what her brothers were up to, and Ron and Hermione, and Hagrid, and everything else he could think of. She told him about life at the Burrow, and how she still hadn't come up with a good excuse for visiting Luna, and how if she had to practice handwriting one more time she was likely to jab the quill into somebody's eye.

After all that had been covered, they moved on to more important things. They still both agreed that waiting to deal with Quirrell until they could be sure of the location of the Philosopher's Stone was the best idea. At that point, Ginny suggested the easiest thing to do would be to simply come up with a reason to shake Quirrell's hand in front of Dumbledore and let Voldemort's inability to touch him do the rest. It seemed like a lot less hassle than dealing with Devil's Snare and potion puzzles and giant chess sets all over again.

'Is there anything else we're forgetting?' Ginny asked after they'd gone over it all. 'I mean, what else do you remember about your first year?' Harry took a moment to rack his brain.

'I know there must be other things,' he said eventually, 'but I just can't think of them right now.'

'Try working backward,' Ginny suggested.

'What do you mean?'

'Instead of trying to think of the order that things happened in from the beginning of the year, take the last big thing you remember and work back from there. It's easier to recall what led up to something than it is to pick out memories at random.'

'Where did you hear about this?'

'It's a trick Bill taught me. He uses it when puzzling through ancient ruins and such, but he used to use it to write History of Magic essays. It really works.'

'All right, let's try,' Harry said. 'Obviously I remember going into the trap door to stop Quirrell – who we thought was Snape at the time.'

'What led you do that decision?'

'Well, we wanted to stop him, didn't we?'

'No, I mean why did you decide to do it that night when you did?' Ginny clarified. 'What happened?'

'Hmm, let's see…,' said Harry, thinking back. 'Dumbledore was out of the castle. Yes, that makes sense; I'm pretty sure we tried to tell him what we suspected about Snape. But why...Hagrid!' Harry practically shouted as the memory came back to him. It was a good thing he'd cast that silencing charm on his curtains. 'Hagrid accidentally told us how to get past Fluffy, and we'd worked out he must've done the same to Voldemort.'

'What made you think that?'

'There was something…' Harry strained his brain trying to remember. Suddenly an image of Hagrid's burning beard, the sound of a teddy bear being ripped apart, Malfoy's face in the window as they watched what looked like a floppy umbrella emerge from an egg, and his first ever detention at Hogwarts.

'Norbert!' Harry exclaimed. 'Hagrid's dragon! That was the other thing that happened – er, will happen – this year.'

'Oh right, I remember Ron telling me about that. Didn't you and Hermione deliver it to some of Charlie's friends and get caught out of bed?'

'We did,' Harry confirmed, remember. 'Got detention and lost enough points for the entire school save Slytherin to hate us.'

Ginny rolled her eyes at the fickleness of Hogwarts students. 'Well, that should be easy enough to avoid, at least. If you think of anything else, make sure to write it down so you don't forget all over again.'

'Aye, captain,' replied Harry, grinning.

'Cheek. I'll do the same, of course, but outside of going to Romania, I'm pretty sure nothing particulary memorable happened to me this year. It's next year I've got to worry about.'

'No, you don't,' Harry said, his face turning suddenly serious. Her tone had been joking, but he knew how much the episode with the diary still haunted her. 'We're chucking that thing in the fire the second Lucius Malfoy drops it in your cauldron.'

Ginny smiled. 'I love you, Harry, but you know we can't do that. For one thing, it's a Horcrux, so that might not even work, and for another, that would mean leaving a live basilisk down there under the school. There's no way you'll be okay with that; I know I'm certainly not.'

Harry remained adamant that she not get anywhere near Tom Riddle's diary _or_ the Chamber _or_ basilisk, but he didn't want to argue, so he steered the conversation away.

'We don't have to work any of that out just yet,' he said. 'You said yourself it's not until next year. Let's talk about something else.'

'Don't think I don't see what you're doing, Mr I-Think-I'm-So-Sneaky. But all right, we can discuss it later. I want to hear what else you've been doing. You didn't tell me about how you got the mirrors.'

'Oh, right!' he said. 'That's kind of a fun story, actually. And there's something else I forgot to mention, too.' He told her about his trip into Hogsmeade to get the mirrors and his discoveries regarding the tunnel behind the mirror, which she was excited to try out. He told her about Hermione's birthday (she was just as delighted as he had been about Ron's behavior on that front), and her present, which Ginny agreed was perfect for Hermione.

What he very pointedly did not bring up was his ever-growing anxiety about Scabbers, a.k.a. Wormtail, or Peter Pettigrew. His gut kept telling him that now was not the right time to act, and he had learned to trust his gut, even when he didn't exactly like what it was telling him. If she hadn't remembered that detail yet, he didn't want to cause her any undue stress over it.

Eventually, Ginny noticed that the sky was turning from black to a velvety purple (Harry, contained within the curtains of his four-poster, could not see it), and they forced themselves to say goodnight. It was with a deep, contented sigh that Harry lay his head down on his pillow after replacing his mirror beneath it, and even though he was likely going to be incredibly drowsy the next day, he did not mind in the slightest.

~O~O~O~O~O~

~O~O~O~O~O~

~O~O~O~O~O~

Okay, that's chapter three. If I'm right, the pace should start picking up from here, though one can never be too sure with these things. The best stories (and characters) always have a mind of their own, and even when you know exactly where you want them to go, you don't always have complete control over how they get there. I love it.

Hope y'all are enjoying it, too. Leave me a review if you're so inclined. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry this took so long. Getting back into the habit of writing has proven to be far more difficult than I at first anticipated. Nevertheless, I continue to press onwards, and it _is_ becoming less of a struggle.

~O~  
~O~

The ability to talk to Ginny whenever he wanted (for as long as he wanted), went a long way toward making the next several weeks bearable for Harry. The strain of pretending to be eleven years old and just getting to know so many of the people he'd known more than half his life was taking a toll on him, and without that outlet, he likely would have cracked.

He was making a concerted effort to expand his social circle earlier than he had before. There were a number of people he hadn't become friends with (or even known at all) until his time in Dumbledore's Army. This time around, he would make a point to talk to them at least a few times a week in passing, or when they had classes together. Though he still spent most of his time with Ron and Hermione (it would feel almost alien not to), he was struck with just how socially isolated he had been for much of his time at Hogwarts.

In this way, he not only found himself on good terms with future DA members like Terry Boot, Ernie Macmillan, and Susan Bones, but also found himself interacting with people he never really had before. He learned that Stephen Cornfoot from Ravenclaw (whom Harry had almost never spoken to in his life) was as big a fan of chess as Ron. He and his friend Natalie Moon (whom Harry had also never properly met) began meeting Ron, Harry, and Hermione in the library every couple of weeks for improvised chess tournaments (which Ron nearly always won, though Stephen was much more able to hold his own than either Harry or Hermione had ever been).

Through Quidditch, too, he expanded his social circle in ways he hadn't before. He found himself on good terms with Ravenclaw alternate Elliot Frost, who had been Head Boy during Harry's sixth year, and even (though it felt awkward), struck up something of a friendship with a much younger Cho Chang than Harry ever remembered meeting before. He made sure to tell Ginny about this immediately, lest she think he was hiding it from her. Her face indicated she wasn't exactly thrilled about it, but she said she couln't begrudge him making friends.

'I trust you, Harry,' she said that night through her mirror. 'And honestly I'm a little envious. I would kill to have more people to talk to. Not that talking to you isn't wonderful, of course!' she added hastily. Harry couldn't hold in his laughter.

'It's all right, I know what you mean,' he said. 'To tell the truth though, it's got me a little worried.'

'What does?'

'All this acting like I'm eleven years old again. There are times when I forget that I'm not. Being in this body and around so many other kids, sometimes my brain just slips into old habits and I feel like I really am back in first year.'

'I can see how that might feel strange, but is it really something you need to worry about? Honestly, to me it sounds like you're relaxing a little and releasing some of your stress.'

'Does it, though?' Harry asked, concern flowing through his tone. 'I mean, what if that's part of whatever spell put us here? What if I really do forget and actually become a child again mentally as well as physically?' He didn't even want to give voice to his other fear – that magic had nothing to do with it and his mind was just cracking under all the pressure.

Ginny frowned. 'Okay, I sort of see what you mean. I haven't really felt anything like that yet, but you might have a point about being around all the other students causing it. I mean, even without magic, if that's where you spend all of your time, it's inevitably going to rub off on you a little.' He masked a grimace, not wanting her to know that she had just casually thrown out there what he was truly most afraid of.

'What should I do, then?' he asked. 'I can't exactly start hanging around the staff room, can I?'

'No, I should think not,' she said. 'This does warrant thinking about, though. How often does this happen, would you say?'

'Not so often that I'm freaking out about it,' he said. _Yet_ , he added in his mind. 'But often enough that I've noticed.

'Hmm, okay,' she said. 'This isn't exactly my area of expertise; I wish we could bounce ideas off Hermione. But why don't you start trying to keep track of it? Just make a note whenever you notice yourself thinking like a first year, and we can watch and see if it's happening more and more frequently as time goes on. If it doesn't, it's probably just your poor overworked brain trying to take a break. If it does...well, we'll worry about that later.'

So it was that Harry began to keep a journal on his person, in which he would jot down the date and time every time he caught himself falling into his childlike persona. After a few weeks, to his relief, it looked like it was happening far less often than he had origially assumed – only a few times a week, often for only a few minutes at a time. Perhaps it was due to the fact that he was making a conscious effort to avoid it, but if that actually worked in staving it off, so much the better.

Another thing he was noticing was that he was experiencing fewer and fewer episodes of deja vu. He knew this meant that the timeline was already diverging from his original memory to such an extent that the odds of anything other than major event happening in a similar manner as before were dropping so rapidly that it wouldn't be long before ceased to recognize anything. He knew this was dangerous not only because his ability to predict things would essentially evaporate, but also it would make it that much easier for his treacherous brain to come to accept his surroundings as its natural environment.

All this brooding and fretting very nearly got him into trouble on its own. He was sitting in Charms class wondering if he should start keeping track of his bouts of deja vu as well when a sudden burst of flame mere inches from his face startled him so badly he nearly started casting indiscriminate jinxes all around him in defense.

It turned out that his partner, Seamus (who had been doing all the work so far thanks to Harry's distraction), had prodded the feather they were supposed to be levitating with his wand and accidentally set it alight. Still operating half off instinct, Harry only just stopped himself from putting it out with his wand (which he should have no idea how to do), and instead opted to smother it with his hat. He looked around to see if anyone else was watching, but they all had their own problems.

'Ron, you're saying it wrong,' Hermione was explaining patiently in the next seat over. 'You want to stress the second syllable. "Win-GAR-dium Levi-O-sa", not "Levio-SA" Make the "gar" nice and long.'

'Really?' Ron asked, sounding incredulous that it could be that simple, but he appeared to take her word for it because he readied himself for another try. ' _Wingardium Leviosa!'_ He waved his wand, and the feather sitting in front of him wobbled a bit and tried to rise, like an old man attempting to force himself out of bed in the morning.

'That was much better!' Hermione encouraged. Ron looked pleased with the praise, even though he clearly would have liked to have levitated the feather completely.

'Thanks,' Ron replied earnestly. 'I reckon I might have it before we leave. Let's see you do it, then. We all know you can.'

Hermione flushed slightly but raised her wand and spoke the incantation. The feather floated up and hovered bout four feet overhead.

'Oh, well done!' cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. 'Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!' She was asked to demonstrate again for the class, and then they went back to work. Harry reasoned that it wouldn't attract too much attention if he were to manage the spell now, so did not bother to pretend he couldn't do it.

By the end of the lesson, with help from Hermione and Harry, both Ron and Seamus had also successfully flown their feathers, and the feeling of shared success put everyone in a good mood for the rest of the day. Then, at dinner, Harry nearly emptied the contents of his stomach.

The minute they entered the Great Hall, they were greeted by a fluttering swarm of thousands of live bats, and hundreds of floating, glowing jack-o-lanterns. As though he'd been punched in the gut, Harry was rudely reminded just where and when he was, and what was to come. He pulled out what he was calling his "amnesia journal" and entered in the time and date. Somehow between the Charms lesson and dinner, he'd completely forgotten it was Hallowe'en, and that he needed to be on guard for trolls and possessed defense professors. There was no question that this was his most serious lapse yet, and after a month of no real change, he had to wonder if it was a fluke, or if he was finally starting to get worse.

He remained tense as they sat to eat. He didn't remember exactly when Quirrel had come in, but he was almost certain it had been after the feast had begun.

The food appeared on the golden plates as it always did for special occasions, and Harry was just reaching for a turkey leg when the doors burst open and the panicked defense professor ran in.

It was pandemonium such that Harry hadn't seen in a long time. He reminded himself that this would be the only dangerous or frightening incident most of these students would have ever seen at this point. Morose as that thought made him, he knew he couldn't afford to dwell on it. Dumbledore ordered all students back to their dormitories, and Percy and the other prefects were already busy rounding everyone up.

Harry followed the crowd. Now he was in the moment, he remembered everything clearly. He knew exactly where the troll was going to be, and also that all the teachers looking for it would instead be heading to the dungeons. Of course, this time Hermione was with them and in no danger whatsoever, but that didn't guarantee nobody else was. After all, he had no way of knowing what would have happened if he and Ron hadn't arrived to stop the troll when they did. His mind raced as people swarmed about him, all bustling to get out of the Great Hall while the prefects stuggled to keep order. Did he just go with them and trust the teachers to handle everything, or did he risk exposing himself by breaking away and handling the troll himself?

He knew the answer almost immediately; he couldn't take the chance that the troll might hurt someone while everyone was searching for it in the wrong place. He knew Quirrel and Snape would be heading to the third floor, but as neither of them yet knew how to get past Fluffy, this did not concern him for the moment.

He allowed himself to become separated from Ron and Hermione by the jostling of the crowd. It wouldn't take them long to notice he was missing, and he knew they would be worried, but his only other idea was to confund them, and that just didn't feel right.

As soon as he had a chance, he slipped away. As a fully trained auror with no small amount of experience, it was easy to avoid the attention of the prefects, who were mostly concerned with keeping other first years from panicking.

His destination, the ground floor corridor containing the girls' toilet, was forever stamped on his memory, so he arrived quickly. He kept to the shadows, waiting. He saw Snape on his way to the third floor, and moments later detected the smell of old socks and public toilets. This was followed with a slow, lumbering sound accompanied by deep grunts. He was briefly startled as the troll came into the moonlight; it was bigger than he remembered. Or maybe that was simply because he was used to seeing trolls from an adult's perspective.

He watched as the troll paused in the corridor, seemingly trying to decide what to do. He wondered if it would go into the bathroom as it had before, or if it had been the scent (or sound) of Hermione that had lured it there the first time. After a few moments, the troll wiggled its ears, which Harry recognized as a sign that it had reached a decision. It lurched forward and through the door into the bathroom. Evidently there was something else drawing it in there; perhaps the smell led it to believe there was another troll.

After a quick glance to make sure nobody else was watching, Harry darted out of his hiding place and bolted over to the bathroom door. The troll was in the middle of the room, looking around and blinking stupidly. Not wanting to repeat past mistakes, Harry cast a quick _Homenim Revelio_ to ensure there was nobody else present, just in case. They were alone.

With a grin, Harry recalled an eleven year-old Ron's first successful hover charm, and his first of many victories against dark creatures. Without even drawing the troll's attention, he silently levitated the club out of its hand, spun it around in the air, and crashed it onto the creature's head. The troll dropped to the ground, never knowing what hit it.

Knowing he had very little time to get back before his absence was noticed by more than just Ron and Hermione, Harry quickly disillusioned himself and darted back across the corridor into the shadows. Taking careful aim, he sent a blasting curse at the suit of armor situated a few feet away from the girls' toilet, then a few seconds later another at the door itself, smashing it to pieces. He could only hope the noise was enough to attract at least some of the staff; it wouln't do to leave the troll in there without anybody knowing where it was.

After that he made a beeline for Gryffindor Tower. He ran as hard as he could, using every shortcut he knew (which, after all, was all of them), hoping that if he stumbled in only a few minutes after everyone else, he could claim that he'd just gotten stuck in a trip step in the panic or something.

As luck would have it, wrangling the entire student body turned out to be more trouble than he'd expected, since students were still filing in through the portrait hole under Percy's supervision.

'Come along now, don't shove, we're miles away from any trolls,' the older Weasley boy was saying. Harry removed his Disillusionment Charm and dashed to the back of the line when Percy wasn't looking behind two boys who were too busy jostling for position to pay him any mind.

'Enough horsing around, Bonham, McClaggan,' Percy chastised the two boys. Then his eyes landed on Harry. 'Harry! There you are! Ron and that girl have been going spare asking me about you.'

'Sorry,' Harry said, unable to hide that he was out of breath. 'Got caught in a trick step.' He didn't dare say which one, not knowing which route they'd taken.

'Well, all right then,' Percy said. 'Hurry up and come in. That should be everyone.' Harry wondered if he'd bothered counting or was merely assuming.

Ron and Hermione were beside themselves when they saw him. So were the other first years, who had apparently all been roped into seaching for him the moment Ron noticed he was missing.

'What happened?' Hermione asked.

'You were right next to us one second and the next, you were gone!' Ron accused.

'Did you get lost?' asked Dean.

'Did you see the troll?' asked Neville. He looked like he didn't really want to know the answer.

'I just got bounced around while we were leaving the Great Hall is all,' Harry explained. 'I swear every single person in Gryffindor bumped into me. Anyway, I got caught in one of those bloody trick steps and everyone had moved on by the time I got myself out.'

'You're lucky,' said Lavender, looking at him with concern. 'I mean, what if you ran into the troll?'

'Come off it, Lavender,' said Seamus. You heard Quirrel. It was all the way down in the dungeons. If anyone ran into it, it would've been the Slytherins.'

'We don't know there was only one troll!' Lavender countered defiantly. 'If one got in, who knows if another one didn't, too? Harry's really lucky he wasn't hurt!' Her eyes were wet, and Harry fought back a grin. Before, he likely would have thought she was just overreacting as always. Now, he realized she was thinking like an auror.

'I didn't see anything,' Harry assured her (and everyone else). 'I didn't smell anything either, and if there had been any trolls around I probably would have.'

A half hour later, Professor McGonagall arrived to inform them all that the troll had been found unconcious in the girls' toilet on the ground floor, all signs pointing to it having knocked itself out with its own club. She also assured them that the teachers were confident no other trolls were present within the castle, but that a thorough seach was being performed regardless, just in case.

~O~

The troll was the talk of the castle for the next several days, with everyone swapping theories on how it had gotten in, why it had knocked itself out, and what it could possibly have been doing in a girls' toilet.

'Imagine if someone had been in there!' Hermione exclaimed, horrified. Harry had to pretend to cough to hide his laughter.

Ginny merely rolled her eyes when he told her what he'd done that evening during their mirror conversation.

'I don't suppose there's any point in telling you that you should have just left well enough alone,' she said, smiling fondly.

'Not particularly, but you can if you want.'

'Cheek. Well, that's one less thing to worry about, I suppose. You said Quirrel didn't try anything else until the end of the year?'

'If he did, I never heard about it,' Harry confirmed.

'So we're back to waiting?'

'Seems like it. Although I'm getting worried again, Ginny. I'd copmletely forgotten today was Hallowe'en until I saw the decorations. We've been talking about it for weeks! How could I have forgotten?'

Ginny frowned. 'Is this another one of those times when you felt like you were a kid again?'

'No, this is different,' he said. 'I mean, I did have one of those too, but this was just adult falling into a routine and forgetting something important. I feel like even when I do remember who I am, everything's so peaceful that I'm getting complacent.'

'Never would have thought you'd describe any of your years at Hogwarts as "peaceful",' Ginny joked.

'It sure didn't feel that way at the time,' Harry acknowledged, 'but looking back, it was a walk in the park compared to later on.'

'I suppose,' Ginny agreed. 'What's next, then?'

'Well, the first Quidditch match is coming up,' Harry said with a grin.

'I know _that_ ,' Ginny said. 'And I hope you enjoy yourself. Wish I could be there to see it. I meant what's next with Quirrel and the Stone?'

'I still think it's best to wait until after Christmas,' Harry said. 'After Dumbledore puts the Mirror down there and we know exactly where the Stone is. We can decide what to do about it then. Quirrel won't make his move until June, after all.'

'You want to be careful not to take that for granted,' Ginny warned. 'We have seen some changes already. There's no guarantee he might not try to steal it earlier than we expect.'

Harry hadn't considered this; he didn't think it would be a problem, but knew she was right to be careful.

'You're right,' he said. 'After break, then. As soon as the new term starts, I'll try to engineer a way to come into contact with him and expose Voldemort in front of Dumbledore. The back up plan will just be going down to steal the Stone myself, though it probably won't come to that.'

'It would certainly be difficult to explain to Dumbledore and Flamel how you got hold of it,' Ginny said.

'Among other things, yeah.'

Talk of the troll died down faster than it perhaps otherwise would have due to the excitement over the first Quidditch match of the season. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin was always a big event, and having them face off right out of the gate was bringing everyone's enthusiasm to a fever pitch. This match could very well serve as a bellwether for the rest of the season.

Harry would never forget his first Quidditch match. He had a feeling that would still be true even if he _hadn't_ almost been murdered, but it was that attempt on his life that was on his mind when he placed the most powerful protective charms on his broom that he knew of the morning of the match. Let Quirrel's silly little jinx break through _that._

That breakfast was the most enjoyable he'd ever had before a Quidditch match. Even in his later years as a veteran player and then as captain, he'd never felt this confident, and there had always been that little bundle of nerves deep in his gut. Even though he knew someone was going to try to kill him, he felt nothing but exhiliration as he filled his plate with sausages, toast, eggs, and bacon.

'Not nervous, Harry?' Fred called over from where he and George were heaping piles of food onto their own plates. Angelina Johnson was watching them with incredulity.

'What have I got to be nervous about?' he called back, spreading a generous helping of marmalade onto his third slice of toast. 'It's only Slytherin.'

'That's the spirt, Harry!' said George, his mouth half full of sausage. 'Nothing to worry about! Party in the common room after, yeah?'

'Sounds good!'

'You're not nervous at all?' Neville asked disbelievingly.

'He's got to put on a brave face, Neville,' Dean explained. 'Even if he were nervous, it would only help Slytherin to show it.'

'That's true,' Harry agreed, 'but I'm really not. We practiced really hard, and Quidditch is fun. I'm excited, not nervous.'

'I can't decide if you're brave or stupid,' said Seamus, shaking his head. 'Seekers are always the ones the other team goes for, after all.'

'I've been called both,' replied Harry, shrugging and taking a bite of toast.

'I hope you win,' Lavender said from a few seats down. 'Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass have been horribly obnoxious all week, even though neither of them care about Quidditch at all.'

'Neither do you,' Parvati pointed out from next to her.

'I do!' Lavender insisted. 'Just because I don't play...!'

'All right, all right,' Parvati said, laughing. 'I know. And they have been awful, you're right about that. It really would be great if you won, Harry.'

'I'll see what I can do.'

In the changing room, Harry felt a wave of nostalgia as he listened to Oliver Wood's big game speech. With it came a rush of excitement – he hadn't played a proper Quidditch match for ages. More than that, here was something that his memories of the future would not help him with. A Quidditch match was sufficiently random that there was no way to predict anything at all, even if he could pefectly recall every single moment from the original timeline. How the bludgers would fly, what each individual player would do with the quaffle, when the snitch would appear and where, there were so many elements involved that it was like playing a whole new match. As such, he even though he was still in his eleven year-old body surrounded by younger versions of everyone he knew, he truly felt like himself again for the first time in months, since his first fire chat with Ginny.

As they marched out onto the pitch, Harry saw the other first year Gryffindors in the stands with the great big _Potter for President_ banner they'd made. He smiled. This was what school should have been like for them all along. If there was one upside to any of this, it was that he would be able to shield everyone else from all the horrors they'd had to go through for seven years in his timeline.

He mounted his broom. It still felt strange being back on his old Nimbus Two Thousand, even after weeks of practicing. There was no denying that it was an excellent broom, but it just didn't have the speed or the fine-tuned handling of his Firebolt. No matter. It was more than enough to outfly a team of school children.

He kicked off into the air at the whistle and immediately started looking around for the snitch. He was confident his protective charms would hold, but all the same there was no reason to take any chances.

The game was off to a fast start, with the chasers of both sides swapping possession repeatedly, but no one had yet taken a shot on goal. To Harry, who had been playing Quidditch for more than half his life (and for the last few years, had been flying with a professional), the game seemed to be going in slow motion. He knew from his memories that none of the house teams in his first year had been on the level of those in his later years (it had been a rebuilding year for most of them, and Hufflepuff was simply having an off year), but he hadn't counted on the difference being this pronounced. The bludgers may as well have been balloons wafting in the breeze for all the trouble it was to dodge them, and the Slytherin seeker might well have not even been playing at all. Harry hated to admit it, but Malfoy was definitely more of a match for him than Terence Higgs.

'GRYFFINDOR SCORE!' Lee Jordan cried out. Angelina Johnson had just slipped one past the Slytherin keeper for the first goal of the game.

Harry did a loop to celebrate, but didn't keep his eyes off the pitch. He didn't want to get overconfident and then end up missing the snitch. That would just be embarrassing, and Ginny would never let him hear the end of it.

Still, he was having a lot of fun maneuvering around the pitch. He felt like he was riding a motorbike, weaving it through traffic on the motorway. In his search for the snitch, he made an effort to get in the Slyther chasers' way as often as possible, and it seemed to be working, for after a few minutes Gryffindor had scored two more times.

'Thought you were supposed to be staying out of the way,' Wood called out to him as he swung past the Gryffindor goal posts.

'I got bored,' he called back, unable to resist being cheeky. 'Don't worry, I'm still looking for it.'

'You'd better be. If we lose because you got distracted showing off...' he left the threat hanging, but Harry knew what was being implied. He nodded to show he understood and then sped off toward the other end of the pitch, casually ducking under a bludger as he went.

He was right around the center of the pitch when he felt it. A slight twinge, indicating that something was trying to penetrate his wards. He didn't risk looking over, but he knew that if he did, he'd see professors Quirrel and Snape staring unblinkingly at his broom, muttering under their breath. No doubt Quirrel had to be wondering why his jinx wasn't working; he would probably assume either Snape or Dumbledore had done something to the broom beforehand, or else he would simply overestimate the power of Snape's countercurse.

A gasp rippled through the crowd, and Harry looked over to see the Snitch. It had just whizzed right past Adrian Pucey's face, causing him to miss an easy interception and allowing Katie Bell to make a run on the keeper.

Higgs was closer, but Harry was faster. He did a somersaulting about face and shot toward the end of the pitch where the little golden ball was flittering about. A bludger came at him from the right, but a casual half roll was all he needed to avoid it. He was almost on top of the snitch when the Slytherin captain, Marcus Flint, appeared right in front of him.

Had he been less experienced, Harry might have tried to swerve or pull up, but either one would have resulted in a collision. Instead, he rolled over and dove straight down, righting himself and swooping back up just as he was passing under Flint's toes. His eyes never left the Snitch. In just a few more seconds, it was in his hand, and the stadium was exploding with cheers.

~O~

'Brilliant! Effing brilliant!' Fred Weasley was shouting in the dressing room, clapping Harry on the shoulder (rather harder than was necessary, Harry thought). 'That was one of the greatest moves I've ever seen! Who taught you how to do that?'

'Not me,' said Wood, who was looking at Harry with an expression somewhere between rapture and awe. 'Were you just operating on instinct, Harry?'

'I guess you could call it that,' he said. It wasn't _really_ a lie; he just happened to have thoroughly trained those instincts.

'I thought for sure you were going to plow into him,' George said. 'Can't imagine what he was thinking; that would have hurt him as much as you.'

'Well, maybe not _as_ much,' Harry said. 'He's a lot bigger than me. And it's easier to win without a chaser than without a seeker.'

'I still can't believe he'd try something like that,' Angelina said angrily, shaking her head. 'Madam Hooch was telling him off after the match; I heard.'

'What does it matter?' Fred said, still exuberent. 'We won, and we've got ourselves a world class seeker! The cup's in the bag this year!'

'And Harry's only a first year. We could be looking at the birth of a seven year Gryffindor dynasty,' said George.

'All right, let's not get ahead of ourselves,' Wood said, suddenly all business again. 'Yes, Harry flew fantastically, but that doesn't mean the rest of us can start sitting on our laurels. The other teams are going to be gunning for us now, you know. We'll have to work twice as hard to make sure we don't squander this early lead.'

'Oh come on, Oliver!' said Fred. 'Take a night off for once. You can go back to drilling us like a madman on Monday. Today and tomorrow are for celebrating!' The rest of the team echoed his sentiment, and before long Oliver was browbeaten into accepting that the Gryffindor Quidditch team would not be doing anything other than partying for the remainder of the weekend.

The other first years all swarmed around Harry to congratulate him when he returned to the common room. The girls, Neville, and Dean were all just excited that they'd won, but Ron and Seamus couldn't get over the maneuver he'd used to end the match.

'What even was that?' Ron asked, after the three of them had verbally reenacted it for the third time. 'It looked kind of like a sloth-grip roll, but with kind of a long-stitch lunge mixed in. I've never seen anything like it.'

'I thought you were going to pull up,' Seamus said. 'I probably would have pulled up.'

'Me too,' Ron agreed. 'I think that's the natural reaction. I reckon Harry didn't panic, so he realized that wouldn't work.'

Seamus whistled in admiration.

'Fred and George weren't kidding, Harry,' Ron said. 'You really are a natural.'

He accepted the praise as humbly as he could manage, but he felt guilty because fond of all of them as he was, he couln't wait to get away from them and call Ginny. He knew it would be a while yet before anyone in the whole of Gryffindor was ready to let him go to bed.

~O~

The Quidditch match had reinvigorated Harry in more ways than one. In addition to the exhiliration that put a damper on his ever-present sense of despair at his situation, it also served to remind him who he was. No eleven year-old played Quidditch like that, and his lapses in identity had thinned out considerably. In the first week after the match, he only lost track of himself once. It helped that nobody in the castle could stop talking about what a flying prodigy he was, thereby keeping the experienece fresh in his mind, and reminding him that he was truly an outsider in all of this.

Students Harry had never met in either timeline were approaching him in the corridors to compliment him on his flying skills. Professor McGonagall had given him ten points for demonstrating proper wand technique in his first class after the match, even though her usual standard was five. And, in a turn of events that surely would have sent a younger Harry into a panic attack (or perhaps not, since he hadn't yet noticed her in his first year), Cho Chang came up to him at breakfast the next Sunday morning and asked for flying tips.

'I think she might fancy you, Harry,' said Fred after he left, clearly taking the mickey. Harry assured himself that his faint blush was instinctual and meant nothing.

Ginny laughed when he confessed this reaction to her the following night, reminding him that he was still allowed to be embarrassed by the thought of pretty girls liking him. 'It's part of your charm,' she said. He had no idea what she meant by that, but if she truly wasn't bothered (and he could usually tell when she was lying about it), then he wouln't let himself fret over it.

'To be honest, you're probably going to get a lot more of that,' she said. 'From what you've told me, you're being a lot more sociable than you were before; it makes you more approachable. And based on how you flew in that match, a lot of people are going to want to talk to you.'

'Is it really that big of a deal, do you think? I mean, I've never exactly gone unnoticed, you know.'

'Harry, you flew like a professional in your very first match at eleven years old. Yes, it's a big deal. Oh, I so wish I could have seen it.'

'A professional? Come off it.'

'You keep up with me when we fly together, and I'm on one of the top teams in the league. You could play for any team you chose if you wanted to, and not because you're "the Savior of the Wizarding World". Because you're brilliant at Quidditch. It comes naturally to you so you don't see it, but you really are.'

'Well, shite,' he said, deflating a bit. 'Maybe I should have held back a little after all.'

'No,' Ginny said firmly. 'This was good for you, Harry. You said it made you feel like yourself again, and you needed that. You said you've only had one episode this week, and you've been stressing about that so much. You should have seen yourself when you were telling me about the match. I haven't seen you light up like that in months. Since we first talked. Promise me you'll keep letting yourself have fun at Quidditch. I want you to be happy when I finally get to see you again.'

'Of course I'll be happy,' he said immediately.

'I meant in general,' she clarified. 'We left gloomy Harry behind years ago, remember? We promised after the war.'

'We did, yeah,' Harry agreed, smiling. 'But part of me wonders if "gloomy Harry" wasn't – at least in part – caused by the horcrux I was dragging around. If that's the case, and I'm stuck with it again...'

' _Don't_ even finish that thought,' Ginny commanded roughly. 'Even if it is back, to say that it's affecting your mood is to imply that he has any kind of power over you, which he doesn't. You were a moody teenager, just like millions of others around the world, and you lived in difficult times, but those times are over and you grew out of it, just like everyone else. And don't give me any excuses about reliving the difficult times, because we both know very well that we're not going to allow any of that to happen again. Right?'

He sighed. 'Right.' It wasn't worth starting an argument over.

~O~

The rest of November passed without much of note. Harry had followed Ginny's instructions and allowed himself to continue riding the high of his Quidditch victory as long as it would carry him. It was starting to wear off by the end of the month, but he was still averaging only one or two episodes a week, which was encouraging. And if he once again found himself getting stuck in a routine, at least he managed to remember who he really was most of the time.

His first serious wake-up call came in early December. They had just finished another rather dull Defense Against the Dark Arts Lesson and were packing up to leave, when something altogether unexpected happened.

'M-mister P-P-P-Potter, a w-word after c-c-class, if you p-please?' Professor Quirrel stammered. Harry nearly froze, but forced himself to project calm. Never, not once, did he recall being asked to speak with Quirrel at any point throughout his entire first year. That meant this was novel, which meant it was either a result of a change he had made, or...

'N-nothing to w-worry about,' Quirrel assured him jovially. As jovially as he could ever manage, anyway.

'Of course, professor,' he said, dropping his bag back down onto his chair and indicating to Ron and Hermione that he'd meet up with them later.

Harry approached the professor's desk as casually as he could, while inside he was a whirlwind of different thoughts and emotions. With any other teacher, he would have regarded such a deviation from his memory as simply curious. With this particular teacher, it had the potential to be so much worse.

'H-have a seat, Mr P-Potter,' said Quirrel, gesturing to a large stool next to his desk. Harry sat. 'I've b-been wanting t-to speak to you since your Q-Q-Quidditch match,' Quirrel said.

'Oh?'

'Yes. I d-d-don't know if P-P-Professor Dumbledore t-told you, b-but someone tried to j-j-j-jinx your b-broom.'

Harry just barely managed to mask the shock that he felt. What was Quirrel playing at? Or rather, what was Voldemort playing at, since he was obviously the one calling the shots. Was this some ploy to find out how much Harry knew? But why would they think he knew anything in the first place? Maybe their goal was to frighten Harry with the knowledge that someone was trying to kill him. Even then, there was no reason to expect he wouln't talk to Dumbledore about it. No matter which way he looked at it, there was no logic behind this move. That in itself made the situation especially dangerous, since if you don't know what your enemy wants, you have no way of preventing him from getting it. He would have to handle this very delicately indeed.

'A jinx, sir?'

'Yes. Were you n-n-not aware?'

Something about the wording of the question seemed off to Harry. Not 'Did no one tell you?' or 'Did you feel anything strange?', but simply asking if he had been aware of the jinx being cast. Then he remembered that Voldemort's legilimency could detect a lie even without direct eye contact. So they were after information after all; they were trying to corner Harry into giving away something. He couldn't say no, because Voldemort would know he was lying, but if he said yes, they would want to know how he knew.

'I thought I felt something once,' he said, disguising the careful planning of his words as simply trying to recollect something. 'Like a twinge, near the end of the match, just before I saw the Snitch.' He did not elaborate further. That would at least line up with what they expected, but he hadn't given away anything.

'Yes, that w-was the j-j-jinx. It was actually q-quite p-p-powerful. Sh-should have knocked you r-r-right off your b-broom. You were f-fortunate to have such p-powerful p-p-p-protection spells. Whom did you ask to c-cast them for you?'

Harry almost gave himself away by smiling. Without realizing it, Quirrel's line of questioning had saved Harry rather than cornering him. If he had instead just asked 'Who cast it?', or 'Do you know who cast it?' there would have been no real way out. Luckily, however suspicious they might have been, it would likely never occur to them that he would have cast it himself. They were trying to figure out whom he would trust to help him, and that was the mistake that would get him out of this.

'I didn't ask anyone to, sir,' he said, earnestly as he could. He almost added, 'Why would I even think to?', but decided not to push his luck.

'I see,' said Quirrel, nodding slowly. Harry wondered if Voldemort was capable of communicating instructions to his servant without speaking aloud. He suspected he could. 'You have a m-mysterious b-b-benefactor, Mr P-P-Potter.' That was exactly what Harry wanted him to think. Let them think Dumbledore was already on to them, or that somebody else in the castle was looking out for Harry. Might make them think twice about trying to kill him again, since obviously they were deviating from the original timeline now.

'D-d-do you have any id-d-dea who would want to t-t-try to hurt you?' Quirrel asked after a few moments of silence.

Harry opened his mouth to say he had thought Snape might have been responsible, since when it had happened the first time, he really had thought that and thus it was technically true. Then he considered that Voldemort's legilimency was probably not based on precise wording, but rather on the intent to deceive. He didn't think it wise to test just how finely tuned it was.

'I'm sorry, never mind,' he said, closing his mouth and shaking his head.

'No, g-go on,' Quirrel encouraged, unable to restrain his enthusiasm now he thought he had something to go on. 'Anything you t-t-tell me will be c-confidential, I p-p-promise. Unless I think you are in d-danger, of c-c-course. I am only t-t-trying to help you, Mr P-P-Potter.' Harry inwardly scoffed at how obvious he was being. Voldemort really was in dire straits if he was forced to rely on such an amateur.

'Well,' he began, making a big show of being reluctant, 'I was going to say I thought was Professor Snape,' he admitted. He looked at the floor as if he'd said something shameful.

'I see,' Quirrel said again, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. 'Well, I will k-k-keep an eye out for you, b-but I assure you, M-Mr P-Potter, you have nothing t-to fear from the t-t-teachers here.' He said it in a such a way that it was clear he did not expect Harry to believe him.

'If you say so, sir,' Harry replied, keeping his eyes on the floor.

'Th-that will be all, Mr P-P-Potter. You may g-go. B-b-but please come speak t-to me if you ever feel unsafe.'

'All right, professor,' he said, avoiding saying he would do so, since that would be a lie. 'Thank you.' He retrieved his bag from his seat and began making his way back to Gryffindor Tower.

His first instinct was to relay everything that had just happened to Ron and Hermione, but then he remembered that this version of them knew nothing whatsoever about his troubles with Voldemort. A sense of sadness and loss washed over him at the thought, but he pushed it away, not allowing himself to be dragged under. He still had Ginny, and she definitely had to hear about this. Things were already changing; the time to hash out a specific plan for dealing with Quirrel and the Stone had come. This time it had only been a mild interrogation. The next time he found himself blindsided might very well be by a wand.

~O~

~O~

~O~

Oh gods, writing Quirrel's dialogue is exhausting. I swear, he'd better hurry up and die so I don't have to do any more of that shit.

...He said, as if he didn't have complete control over if and when that happens.

Anyway, I didn't revise this chapter as much as I probably should have, but I feel like it's been long enough already and it's driving me mad. I want to be done with this, already. Do let me know if it's completely awful though, and I can come back and fix it.

Thanks in advance to those who review.


	5. Chapter 5

This is the first chapter written fully under my new, self-imposed "Writing Rehabilitation" program. My earlier attempts with this story and _You Can Go With Harry_ to kickstart my writing again were insufficient and stalled after an explosive start, so I have instituted a new regime. As of August 1st, I have set aside the same specific hour every day for writing only, when no other activities will be allowed (with exceptions made for potty emergencies). It has been a smashing success so far, with this chapter and most of the previous chapter being the initial results.

For anyone out there having trouble sticking to a writing schedule, making yourself an ironclad but simple (so as to avoid possibility for loopholes) rule and sticking to it is very helpful. I recommend it.

~O~

~O~

It was decided that Harry would go after Quirrel and Voldemort during the start of term feast in January. That would give him time over break to confirm the presense of the Mirror of Erised. It would also give him a huge audience. Voldemort's greatest asset had always been working out of the shadows; Harry wanted as many people to actually see him as possible. That would be much more effective in the long run than simply the rumors that had spread the first time.

How exactly he was going to do it was another question entirely. Ginny's original suggestion of just going up to him and shaking his hand, while ingenious in its simplicity, wasn't exactly feasible. For one thing, Quirrel would be sitting at the staff table and for another, what convincing reason could he give for wanting the handshake in the first place? The few weeks until the feast gave them some time to come up with a pretence.

The first heavy snow came in the middle of the month. The lake froze over, and Harry nearly died of laughter when the Weasley twins bewtched a pair of snowballs to follow Quirrel around and bounce off the back of his turban. He wished he hadn't forgotten about that image before, but because he hadn't known what was under the turban, it had just been a momentary amusement and not worth remembering. Now though, he was going to carry it to his grave. Every time he thought of what expression Voldemort must be making under there, he burst into wild laughter again. Ron and Hermione were beginning to think he was a bit touched.

The lead up to the Christmas holidays was very festive. The decorations in the Great Hall were just as spectacular as they ever were, and with the exception of Malfoy, who kept loudly mentioning how miserable it must be to have to stay in the castle over the holidays, everyone was in a cheerful mood. Though perhaps that would be considered cheerful for Malfoy.

Harry distinctly remembered spending a lot of his first Christmas season at Hogwarts in the library looking for Nicolas Flamel in an effort to find out what Fluffy was guarding, and looking back he couldn't think what exactly had compelled him to do it. All he'd known (or thought he'd known, anyway) at that point was that Dumbledore was hiding something at the school and someone, probably Snape, was trying to steal it. Unlike so many of his other misadventures at Hogwarts over the years, he didn't have any personal stake in the matter (that he knew of), unless he counted being angry at Snape for trying to kill him.

He brought this line of thought up to Ginny one night and she teased him about being nosy. Then she said it was simply an early sign that he was destined to be an auror; he just couldn't resist a good mystery.

When people left to go home for Christmas, the castle became very quiet. Harry and Ron spent a lot of time in the common room. Stephen Cornfoot and Natalie Moon had both gone home, so there was only each other if they wanted to play chess. Harry realized he still hadn't gotten around to getting a set of his own. He didn't even remember where he'd gotten the set he owned in his adult life, only that he'd had it for years. He'd need to get one soon. It was hardly a pressing concern, but as Harry had long been resigned to the fact that he was clearly going to be stuck here for a long time, he reasoned he might as well start making the best of it.

Christmas morning came and with it, presents. Harry had to turn away from Ron when he opened his very first Weasley jumper, since it nearly made him tear up. Biting into Mrs Weasley's homemade fudge actually did.

It hadn't really hit him until that moment just how much he missed his family – for the Weasleys were his family, there was no question. It had always been a dull, ever-present ache in his chest and one of the principal complaints he had regarding his situation, but now the full weight of their lack came crashing down upon him. Even though they were here – he saw Ron and the twins every day, after all – they weren't _really_ here. These people were not the family he knew; they were different versions of the same people. They were not and would never be the Weasleys he remembered. Nor would his friends. None of the experiences and shared memories that made them the people they were – the people Harry loved – would ever happen.

That was a good thing, he reminded himself. So many of those experiences were terrible. He was sparing them all from years of pain and fear and grief. And he could make friends with them all again, of course he could. He'd already begun. But even once he did, the versions of them that Harry had first grown up with – the people that had truly been his first family – would still be gone forever. Only Ginny was left to him, and she'd lost all the same people he had.

'You all right, mate?' Ron asked. It was not possible, after all, to completely hide such an overwhelming outporing of emotion. Harry did his best to play it off.

'Yeah,' he said, grinning through the wetness on his cheeks. He put on his new jumper and used the few seconds it took to compose himself. 'I've just never really gotten any presents before,' he explained, though of course Ron already knowing this was the reason for these presents in the first place. 'It means a lot, that's all.'

'Don't worry about it,' Ron said, his ears going pink. 'Mum was happy to do it, I guarantee you.' Harry, who knew this to be true, smiled genuinely.

'What's that one?' Ron asked, pointing to a small package Harry had yet to open. All the emotion his gift from Mrs Weasley had caused had caused him to forget for a moment, but now his mind was back on track. Now that this was finally in his possession again, the time for action was drawing near.

'Dunno,' he lied. 'Let's find out.'

~O~

Christmas day had been a largely enjoyable affair. For the first time, Harry allowed himself to enjoy his situation; there really was nothing like Christmas as a child, so why not have fun when given the chance?

He received a wizard chess set when George got one out of a cracker and traded him for a grow your own warts kit. He and the Weasleys had a proper snowball fight on the grounds, and he ate until he nearly burst.

That night, his brief bit of indulgence over with, it was time to get back to business and put his cloak to work. As soon as everyone was asleep, he snuck out of Gryffindor Tower and went in search of the Mirror of Erised.

He didn't remember exactly where it was, but he had a fair idea which part of the castle it was in, and all the time in the world to look for it. It felt good to have his cloak back; much like his wand, it had felt like a part of him had been missing ever since he'd woken up in that cupboard six months ago.

He started on the fourth floor, since he knew for certain it hadn't been on the ground floor or the seventh, and was reasonably sure it hadn't been the first or the sixth, either. He'd start in the middle and work his way out.

Not for the first time (and surely not the last, he thought), Harry found himself wishing he had a pensieve. He could remember so few details from his first year outside of a few major events. He had a clear image in his mind of what the room with the mirror looked like from the inside, but the route he'd taken to get there was only bits and pieces. He remembered that he'd initially been in the library, but that wasn't much help, and he seemed to recall using a suit of armor as a landmark. That was slightly more useful, since even though there were suits of armor all over the castle, they weren't all next to classroom doors, and he could eliminate any rooms that weren't next to one.

Finally, after an hour and a half of searching, he found it. He might have been quicker if he hadn't encountered both Filch and Mrs Norris prowling the corridors, and had to wait patiently for them to move along.

The mirror was just standing there, exactly as he remembered it. He knew it would be, but the auror in him refused to leave anything to chance. He would come back every night to check on it until it was gone, at which point he would know it had been moved to its proper place, and that the Philosopher's Stone was safely ensconced within it.

He was about to turn and leave when e was struck with a mad surge of curiosity. What would he see if he were to look into it? He knew what he thought he'd see: himself and Ginny, returned to their adult lives, perhaps surrounded by their friends and family. But what if it was something else? An opportunity for self-reflection with such clarity as this didn't come along every day; it would be a shame not to take advantage of it. Just a peek, then.

He walked quietly over to the mirror, not bothering to take off the cloak, since the mirror didn't reflect his physical form anyway. Just before he got to it, he remembered some of what Dumbledore had said to him on his third visit to the mirror, and he wondered if the old Headmaster was present at that very moment, observing him. He was half tempted to cast _homenim revelio_ , but Dumbledore of all people would be able to detect such a thing and would definitely want to know where he had learned it.

It then occurred to him that Dumbledore may well have meant for him to find this mirror. Why else leave it lying around where anyone could stumble on it? Why else leave it – the keystone to the entire series of enchantments guarding the Stone – out of the guantlet until after Christmas, right when he, Harry, had just been gifted a remarkably useful invisibility cloak?

It was all circumstantial evidence and supposition, true, but Harry had a strong gut feeling about it, and he had learned to trust such instincts. Besides, it was just the sort of mad thing Dumbledore was prone to do. If that were the case, he probably _was_ in the room. Wily old bastard.

That changed his plans somewhat, and Harry was now regretting his impulsive decision to have a look in the mirror, but he'd already committed, so there was no sense putting it off any longer. He stepped in front of the mirror and gasped. Even though he'd mentally prepared himself, the image that presented itself to him was shocking and heart-wrenching at the same time. He did indeed see himself and Ginny as adults, and they were surrounded by the entire Weasley family as they had been in his old life – the way he would never see them again. But Fred was with them, older than he ever had been, and his own mother and father as well. Lily and Mrs Weasley were looking at he and Ginny with loving fondness, and James and Mr Weasley were laughing together about something. It was an impossible scene – a scene showing his full and complete family as it might have been if not for the actions of a madman.

A hitch in his throat pulled him back to the moment. It would not do to lose himself in this image as he had when he was a child. He had satisfied his curiosity (though he now wished he'd left well enough alone); it was time to go.

Making sure the cloak was tight around him, he crept to the door and slipped out into the corridor. If Dumbledore had been watching, he would surely be wondering what Harry had seen to make him leave so quickly. For a brief moment he panicked and wondered if Dumbledore would know what he had seen, but then remembered that was impossible. For one thing, the mirror only worked properly if looked into directly, and for another, it only showed one's own desires, not someone else's. There was no way for Dumbledore to know Harry's deepest desire, and if he were to guess, he would likely guess the desire of Harry's eleven year-old self.

Harry chuckled at the thought. It really hadn't changed at all, save for a few altered details. _There's something to be said for consistency_ , he mused, making his way back to the Gryffindor common room. _Twelve years later, I still want exactly the same thing._

~O~

Harry briefly considered bringing Ron with him the second night to view the mirror as he had the first time, but decided there was no real point to it. Ron seeing the mirror had no effect on his plan one way or the other, and truthfully he'd rather keep his friends as far removed from anything Voldemort-related as possible.

He arrived at the room with the mirror quickly the second night. The problem he now face was that rather than simply checking if it was still there as he had originally planned, he would have to go in and look at it again under the assumption that Dumbledore was watching. He spent the better part of an hour sitting in front of it, though for most of that time he was not actually looking; as he was under the invisibility cloak, Dumbledore wouldn't know the difference.

The third night, Dumbledore spoke to him. That seemed to match with what he remembered, and he was relieved that this charade would finally be over with and he could move on with his plans.

'So, back again, Harry?'

'I didn't see you, sir,' he said, doing his best to sound like a contrite first year out of bounds at night addressing the headmaster. He wasn't sure he sold it, but Dumbledore was smiling anyway.

'Strange how short-sighted being invisible can make you,' the old wizard said. 'So,' he went on, slippig off the desk he'd been sitting on and coming to sit on the floor with Harry. 'You, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised.' The young auror recognized the technique, as he'd used it more than once himself; getting on a child's level put them at ease and made them more receptive to speaking openly. He wished they could just get some chairs and have a normal adult conversation.

'The Mirror of Erised, sir?' he repeated, feigning ignorance. Talking to Dumbledore could prove just as precarious as talking to Voldemort; the old man picked up on the tiniest of details and was likely just as skilled at sniffing out lies, even without legilimency. Harry's only card to play was that the headmaster had no reason whatsoever to suspect he was speaking to an adult mind in a child's body.

'Yes. A very old artefact of some renown. I expect by now you have an inkling of what it does?'

'Well, it shows me with my family,' Harry answered honestly.

'Does it?' Dumbledore replied, sounding intrigued. 'Yes, I suppose it would.'

'It doesn't work that way for everyone, sir?'

'Not everyone,' Dumbledore acknowledged, and Harry knew at once what he was thinking about, and what the mirror showed him. 'Your friend Ronald, for instance, is not likely to see his family in it.'

'Is that because he can see them whenever he wants?'

'Yes indeed, though I confess it felt insensitive to say so.'

'So...' said Harry, pretending to think, 'it shows us what we want?'

'Yes and no,' Dumbledore said. 'It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. A man imprisoned would likely see himself free. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge nor truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.'

Harry was grateful for this advice. Not in the present, but from twelve years prior, for it was the memory of that advice that had kept him from losing himself in the mirror this second time, with the longing being so much more powerful than it had been back then.

'The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever _do_ run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable Cloak back on and get off to bed?'

Harry thanked the headmaster and left, the old wizard's words ringing in his ears. He had confirmed what Harry wanted to know, that the Stone would be hidden away in the Mirror no later than tomorrow night. But he had also said something else – something Harry had heard before but had never thought to apply to his current situation. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. Since he had woken up in the cupboard under the stairs on Dudley's birthday, Harry had thought of almost nothing except how to get back to his own time. His own life. He and Ginny had made plans to arrange things to their favor in the event they were forced to stay, but he had merely been going through the motions in implementing them.

For the first time, Harry allowed himself to truly accept the idea that he really was stuck here, and there was no way to get back. That didn't mean he would stop looking for a way, but he couldn't let it keep consuming him. His amnesia journal was full of examples of his brain trying to tell him that it was burning itself out. What was the point, after all, of becoming a child again if you didn't at least occasionally allow yourself to be a child again?

When he returned to Gryffindor Tower, he stopped and inhaled the familiar warm scent deeply and looked around. This was one of his favorite places in the world, and he hadn't once taken a single moment to truly enjoy being in it since his arrival. There was so much here that he missed after leaving school: the armchairs by the fire, the long, comfortable couches, the bay windows overlooking the grounds and the way they filled with stars on clear nights like tonight.

The red and gold color scheme made the whole room cozy and inviting. And there were so many memories. The tables, with their years of exploding snap and chess games. The area near the back by the twin spiral staircases with its smoothed stone floor that had always been the agreed upon area for playing Gobstones. Sirius had appeared in that very fireplace on multiple occasions. And of course there was the lush red carpet just inside the portrait hole, where he had shared his first kiss with Ginny, with the whole house looking on.

It was that very carpet on which he now stood, taking in his surroundings as this flood of happy memories came back to him. Would he still feel the same about this place in seven years if he was constantly resistant to the thought of making any new ones?

Harry headed upstairs to talk to Ginny. He had to tell her the next step of the plan was now in motion, but more than that he just wanted see her face and hear her voice, and share these good feelings with her.

On the way to the boys' staircase, he pulled his amnesia journal out of his pocket and tossed it into the fire.

~O~

The start of term feasts after New Year's and Easter were typically smaller affairs compared to the beginning of the year, since they followed so closely after their respective holiday feasts. Still, they included the whole school and did possess a somewhat festive atmosphere, even if somewhat dampened by the disappointment felt by so many students of being back in school.

The important thing was that they were attended by the entire student body and every member of staff, including the headmaster. At no other time until Easter would everyone in the school be assembled all at once, nor would Harry have any guarantee of Dumbledore's presense. Harry sat, unenthusiastically chewing on some roast beef, watching the staff table out of the corner of his eye. Quirrel was sitting there next to Snape as always, though neither of them were talking much. Snape wore his usual dour expression, and Harry jerked his eyes away quickly lest the Potions master notice him looking.

The logisitcs of what he was about to do were still a bit fuzzy, despite he and Ginny going over them for several weeks, trying to iron out the details. He didn't expect it to be difficult to find a pretence to come in contact with Quirrel if he could manage to get close enough to him; the problem was that he had no reason to approach the staff table, and Quirrel had no reason to leave it. In the end they had landed on the idea of creating a distraction, for which he would need the help of Fred and George. Since coming to them with the plan beforehand would have been suspicious, he was going to try and nudge them into it, so to speak. Knowing the twins, it wouldn't take much nudging.

Steeling himself for a spectacle that could very easily go wrong, he took a swig of pumpkin juice and reached into his pocket for his wand.

He knew something was wrong almost immediately. Right as he swallowed the juice, his throat began burning and he felt like he had the worst fever of his life. His muscles started to seize and he fell backward out of his seat. People screamed and recoiled away from him, then some came back in to look down at him, panic on their faces. He could vaguely make out many of them calling his name, but already his vision was blurring out and it was becoming harder to breathe.

If his hand hadn't already been in his pocket, he would never have made it. As it was, during one of his convulsions, his fingers closed around the wrinkly little object, and though controlling his movements was now something of a herculean task, he somehow managed to get it to his mouth just as he was blacking out.

~O~

When he awoke, he was still on his back, and from the feel of the stone floor, he hadn't been moved from the Great Hall. It must have only been a short time, then. He cursed himself for being caught off-guard a second time. Of course Quirrel and Voldemort would try to kill him again after being so openly repelled in their first attempt. What shocked him was their nerve at trying it right under Dumbledore's nose. Or maybe that was their idea – to draw out Harry's mysterious protector.

If that were the case, Harry may have just tipped his hand. He had carried a bezoar on him at all times ever since Ron had been poisoned by Malfoy in their sixth year. He'd purchased one in Diagon Alley during his school shopping as soon as he'd had the chance. He'd have to nick one from Snape's classroom now to replace it. Still, if it was a choice between giving himself away or dying, there was no real choice at all. The only question remaining was what would happen now.

His other senses started returning and he could hear a great collection of murmuring, and he knew the entire Great Hall would be crowded around him, talking about what had just taken place. Many would be afraid, others worried, and some merely curious. He could hear a few distinct voices from almost directly above him.

'He seems to be all right,' Dumbledore was saying. 'Though I must say, he was very fortunate indeed. What do you make of it, Severus?'

'Undoubtedly poison,' came Snape's voice, calm and cold as ever. 'And a powerful, fast-acting one at that. Were it not for the bezoar...'

'Why did he have one of those?' McGonagall interrupted.

'He – he bought it, professor,' explained Hagrid's voice. He sounded out of breath, as though he'd just been through a terrible ordeal. Harry supposed he had. 'When we were in the apothecary gettin' his school supplies. He saw them and asked the shopkeeper what they were. Laughed and bought one. "Just in case," he said.'

'That explains much,' Snape said, and Harry understood he meant the impromptu pop quiz he'd endured during his first Potions lesson. Fine, let him think that. At this point Harry was finally able to open his eyes, and he did so the tiniest amount, so as not to let anyone notice. The teachers he'd heard speaking were all gathered around him, but he couldn't see anyone else. He could only assume the remaining staff were engaged in keeping the rest of the students back.

'Indeed,' agreed Dumbledore. 'He was most fortunate to have kept it on his person. Quirinus, Severus, would you mind checking him for any residual ill effects before we move him to the hospital wing?'

'Of c-c-c-course,' said Quirrel. Snape merely nodded. They leaned down over him. Harry's brain finally kicked back into gear. This was probably the best chance he would ever get. He waited until Quirrel was close enough. Then he made a great show of returning to consciousness: he gasped loudly as his eyes shot open and he sat up rapidly, grasping the first thing that came within reach, which just happened to be Quirrel's wrist.

Pain such as he hadn't felt in over five years ripped through his forehead. He let out a great scream, but that was nothing compared to the horrific sound coming from Quirrel. A howl of pure, unceasing agony was bellowing from the defense teacher's throat. Around him there was pandemonium. Snape had recoiled and many people had shrieked, which quickly transformed in a cacaphony crying and screaming. Teachers were yelling for everyone to stay back, and Dumbledore had come forward to try to pull the two of them apart.

 _Not yet_ , Harry thought, instinctivly gripping Quirrel's wrist tighter, despite the pain. _Don't pull us apart yet. I have to drive him out._

'Master!' Quirrel screamed in pain. 'Master, help me! The pain! It burns! Help me, please!' His stammer was noticably gone. However after that, his screams became more pronounced and he seemed to lose the ability to speak at all.

A horrified cry reverberated through the Great Hall. Harry would later learn that at that moment, Quirrel's turban had unraveled and fallen off, revealing what was underneath. He was about to black out a second time when Dumbledore was finally successful in wrenching the now horribly burned and blistered wrist from his ironclad grip.

Harry stuggled to maintain consciousness as around him students continued to scream in horror. He caught a brief glimpse Quirrel lying on the floor, huddled and sobbing and...smoldering? That was extremely unsettling, but nothing compared to what happened next. A smoky, half-formed figured emergered from the former professor's crumpled form. The closest thing Harry knew of to compare it to was a ghost, but that wasn't quite right. It more resembled the banshee he had once seen Seamus's boggart become, though with less defined features.

This wisp, which Harry understood to be the part of Voldemort's soul that remained to him, flew off faster than Dumbledore could draw his wand on it, preoccupied as he was with Harry.

'Minerva!' the headmaster shouted. 'Return all students to their dormitories immediately. Tell them I will be coming to speak to them personally to explain what has happened here. Hagrid, could you please take Professor Quirrel to the hospital wing? It is possible we might still be able to save him. Severus, when you have made sure your students are safe, please come and join us.'

With that, he was off, levitating Harry on a stretcher ahead of him as he strode quickly toward this hospital wing. Behind them, Professor McGonagall and the rest of the staff were valiantly attempting to corral the chaos.

'I can walk, sir,' Harry said weakly. More out of habit than anything. Even after all these years, he didn't like feeling or appearing vulnerable.

'I confess I do not share your confidence on the matter, Harry,' Dumbledore said. 'Please indulge an old man his concerns.'

Harry said nothing further, knowing not only that it would be pointless, but that Dumbledore was probably right anyway.

'What...what happened, sir?' he managed to ask. It was a fair question. He wasn't _entirely_ sure himself, though it had looked as though Voldemort had gotten away.

'That is an excellent question, Harry, and one to which I hope we will possess an answer before the evening is over. In the interim, I'm afraid I must ask that you rest.'

It was amazing, marveled Harry, just how non-patronizlingly Dumbledore could say what essentially amounted to, 'Sshh, be quiet.'

They arrived in the hospital wing, where Madam Pomfrey of course insisted he be placed on a bed at once. Harry expected there would be a lot of fussing, during which he was hoping to catch chunks of Dumbledore's discussions with the other members of staff, but he would never find out because despite himself, the moment his head hit that soft, inviting pillow, he drifted off to sleep. His fight with Quirrel and Voldemort had taken more out of him than he'd thought.

When Harry again awoke, it was dark, and the hospital wing was empty. Remembering Dumbledore's instuctions to Hagrid from earlier, he assumed that could only mean that Quirrel had once again not survived their encounter. He pitied the man, who despite being foolish enough to trust Voldemort, and selfish enough to be taken in by his promises of wealth and power, did not deserve such a grisly fate.

On the other hand, this meant that his and Ginny's plan had been a success, albeit not at all in the way they had planned it. Did that actually count as a success? He supposed it must; it certainly wasn't the first time he'd completely stumbled his way to victory through sheer dumb luck.

What would he do with the rest of the year now? They had made contingencies that would no longer be necessary, including planning what to do about Hagrid's dragon, which would now also not be an issue, since Quirrel would not be there to give it to him.

Harry chuckled to himself. It had taken being thrown back in time for him to finally get to have a school year with nothing dangerous remaining for the majority of it. Would he perhaps finally see what a normal school experience was supposed to be like?

'Ah, awake, Harry?' called Dumbledore's voice from across the room as the old wizard exited Madam Pomfrey's office. The matron scurried along behind him. 'No doubt Madam Pomfrey will be anxious to look over you before we speak. I shall wait here.' He pulled up a chair and grabbed a magazine off one of the small tables placed against the wall. Those had to have been there for decades; even Dumbledore, who rarely had reason to be in here, must have read them all dozens of times.

Madam Pomfrey gave him a thorough examination, tutted a few times, and gave him a minty flavored potion, the purpose of which she did not divulge. It for once did not taste horrible though, and made him feel a bit more energized, so he drank it without complaint. Finally she deemed him well enough to endure a conversation with the headmaster, though she made it clear that in her opinion he really ought rather be resting.

'Only as long as absolutely necessary, Poppy,' Dumbledore promised her, and she headed back to her office.

'You have had quite an ordeal, Harry,' Dumbledore said, moving now to sit next to his bed. 'I daresay more than I hope most first year students will ever have to endure. Poisoned and attacked on the same night!'

'Attacked, sir?' The confusion in his voice was not feigned; that was a strange way of putting it.

'Well, not in the traditional sense of the word, I suppose,' Dumbledore said. 'But we can concern ourselves with semantics another time, I think. For the time being, I am hoping that if the two of us pool our knowledge, we may both come to understand exactly what happened this evening.'

 _I let my guard down and almost got poisoned to death_ , Harry thought. Aloud, he said, 'All right, sir.'

'Let us start with the beginning, then,' Dumbledore said. 'As I'm sure you are aware, your pumpkin juice had been poisoned.'

'Yes, I noticed, sir,' Harry said, though not harshly. He had learned that keeping a sense of humor about this sort of thing helped keep from getting overwhelmed by it all.

'Quite,' answered Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. 'The poison itself was rather sophisticated. Professor Snape is still analyzing it, though I think there can be little doubt about who placed it there.'

'Quirrel, sir?'

'I'm afraid so. It appears poor Professor Quirrel had allowed himself to be swayed and even possessed by none other than Lord Voldemort.'

'Sir?'

'It is a long story, Harry, but suffice to say that Quirrel was sharing his body with what remains of the essence of Lord Voldemort. How and why this came to be we may never know, since as soon as it became clear he was exposed, Voldemort fled, leaving his erstwhile host to die. He shows as little pity to his servants as to his enemies, I'm afraid.'

'Quirrel is dead, sir? What happened?' this part he already knew of course, but he had to keep up the act. Perhaps even more than that, he wanted to see what Dumbledore would say.

'Alas, it is hard to say for certain, Harry. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that it was your mother who drove Voldemort away this night.'

'My mother, sir?'

'Yes. You see, the night Voldemort came to kill you so many years ago, your mother gave her life to save you. Such an act of love can leave a very powerful mark that lives on in you, including in your skin. Possessed as he was by Voldemort, who has never been able to comprehend love or its power, poor Quirrel could not bear to touch you.'

'My scar really hurt when I touched him,' Harry said. He was being rather bold now, practically daring Dumbledore to tell him the full truth. Then again, he wondered if the old wizard even knew the full truth at this point.

'As to that, we can only make more guesses,' Dumbledore said. 'We seem to be doing a lot of that, but each guess has the power to lead us closer to the truth. I suspect that when Voldemort tried and failed to kill you, he left an imprint of his power upon you. It was likely this residual impression, combined with you close proximity to Voldemort – who after all was experiencing intense suffering – was what caused your pain. What I would like to know is, with the pain you were no doubt enduring as well as inflicting, why did you not let go?'

'I couldn't,' Harry said simply. It was true, if not for the reason that he was hoping Dumbledore would infer.

'Ah,' the headmaster said. 'How very curious. When I first tried to separate you, you seized up and your grip tightened. At first I thought it might be leftover effects of the poison, though you did seem sufficiently recovered from it at that point. You showed remarkable presense of mind, Harry, to swallow that bezoar. As much as it pains me to say it, we may have been too late to save you had you not done so.'

'It was like instinct,' Harry said, and that much was true. Like his Quidditch maneuver, it was instinct honed by years of training and experience, but instinct nonetheless. 'My hand was already in my pocket, and closed around the bezoar. I remembered what it was and tried to put it in my mouth. I didn't actually think I'd do it.'

'Your instincts serve you very well,' Dumbledore said. 'I would advise you to continue to trust them. However, there is more that I must tell you. This was not the first attempt on your life this year. Professor Snape informed me that someone attempted to jinx your broom at the first Quidditch match. We can assume it was Quirrel of course, though it would be wise to consider that he may have had an accomplice.'

'I'm pretty sure it was him,' Harry said. 'He kept me after class one day and told me about it.'

'Indeed?' Harry could tell this was new information to Dumbledore. 'What else did he say?'

'That someone cast a protection spell on my broom. He thought I asked somebody to do it for me, and asked who that was.'

'That is very valuable information indeed,' said Dumbledore. 'That he knew about both the jinx and the protection spells indicates that he was, indeed, the culprit behind the attack. It sounds to me like he was trying to discover whom you trusted to help you.'

'Was it you, sir?'

'I wish I could say it was, Harry, but I had no reason to believe such precautions would be necessary. More fool I, it would seem. Professor Snape was preparing to perform a counterjinx when he realized what was happening, but the protection charms held and it was not necessary. It would seem you have found yourself a secret benefactor.'

'I won't complain,' said Harry. 'But wait, Snape tried to save me?' The question was unnecessary, but Harry judged it would be strange for his eleven year-old self not to ask it.

' _Professor_ Snape, Harry,' Dumbledore corrected as always. 'He was prepared to, yes.'

'I always thought he hated me.'

'Professor Snape is, I will admit, not always the easiest person to get along with,' Dumbledore said. Harry was shocked; that was the most critical thing about Snape that Dumbledore had ever said to him. 'However, I can assure you that he neither hates you nor wishes you harm.'

 _Well, at least one of those is true_ , thought Harry. He probably should have just let it go, but even understanding it more as he did, Snape's vindictiveness still bothered him. And if he had to put up with it, he wasn't going to let Dumbledore off the hook about it.

'I don't mean to be rude, sir,' he said, 'and I believe you that he doesn't want to hurt me, but...' he let the obvious implication hang. Dumbledore sighed, a deep and tired sound.

'You have no doubt heard, Harry, that you bear a striking resemblance to your father.' Harry nodded, and Dumbledore went on. 'In most cases that would work to your favor; your father was a good man, and well-liked. Professor Snape, however, remembers him differentlly. The two of them never exactly saw eye to eye. They were very often at odds, not unlike yourself and Mr Malfoy. It is unfortunate that you remind Professor Snape so much of your father; it likely brings back a number of very unpleasant memories.'

'But that wasn't me!' Harry insisted, realizing he was having an argument he'd wanted to have for over a dozen years. It felt good to vent his frustrations, even if it wasn't to the person he really wanted to say it all to. 'Just because I look like my dad doesn't mean I'm anything like him, and even if I am, none of those bad memories are actually about me! He should - ', he stopped. He had almost said, 'He should grow up,' but thought that might be pushing his luck, even with Dumbledore.

'You are not wrong, Harry,' Dumbledore said. 'However our emotions are not always under our complete control, as I'm sure you must know. Professor Snape is human, after all, and as such is susciptible to the same weaknesses and failings as the rest of us. I will, if you like, speak with him on the matter.'

Harry was surprised. To his best recollection, Dumbledore had never offered to directly intervene between he and Snape before. He was about to jump at the offer, but then he imagined how Snape would react. He would see it as Harry (James) whinging to an authority, and that authority subsequently siding with Harry (James). If anything, it was likely to make his sense of unfairness even more pronounced, and his attempts to get back at Harry even more underhanded.

If Hogwarts were a normal school, he could likely complain enough to get Snape sacked, and rightly so. However, unpleasant as he may be, Harry understood the importance of Snape's presense, and wouldn't want him gone even if Dumbledore _would_ ever actually consider it.

'I...er, thank you, sir,' he said finally, 'but I don't think you need to. I mean, it's not as if he's tried to kill me or anything.'

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. Harry was fairly certain he had a good idea how Snape would have reacted, too.

'Very well, I shall say nothing for the time being,' he said. 'If you change your mind, you can always tell me.' He was making it clear he was prepared to step in if Snape ever took his vendetta too far, which was the least he could do, Harry supposed. He nodded.

'With that, I think you ought to rest. I did promise Madam Pomfrey our discussion would be brief, after all. No doubt your friends will be anxious to see you in the morning. It would not do to keep them waiting.' He got up to leave, and Madam Pomfrey came back into give him one final check before insisting he go to sleep. It was only after they had both gone, and he was left lying in the dark hospital wing alone, that Harry remembered with a jolt that he had completely forgotten to verify the status of the Philosopher's Stone, and that he now had no justifiable means of doing so.

It wasn't for several more hours that he finally found sleep.

~O~

~O~

~O~

This chapter came out all right, I think. There was probably a bit more rambling than was absolutely necessary, and some decent revision probably would have cleared most of it out. However, as part of my Writing Rehabilitation, I'm trying to rid myself of the habit of compulsive over-revision, so I'm not allowing myself more than a single once-over of any given chapter. In the short term that means things will definitely be less polished, for which I apologize, but in the long term I think it will help my process a lot.

As will your feedback, so please keep it coming. Thanks for reading.


	6. Chapter 6

Next chapter, ready to go! I haven't updated this quickly or regularly since I started writing on some seventeen years ago.

~O~

~O~

The next morning, Madam Pomfrey advised Harry to take his breakfast in the hospital wing before heading back up to Gryffindor Tower. She seemed to think it might cause a scene if he were to appear in there after the events of the previous evening. For once, Harry was inclined to agree with her. When he did arrive up at the common room, a number of students had already left for class, but there were enough still milling about to make things extremely awkward when he came in through the portrait hole.

As though they'd set a lookout to wait for him, everyone immediately stopped what they were doing and turned to look at him, watching him as though they were afraid he might explode at any second. Even accustomed as he was to such attention, it was a little unnerving.

'All right, that's enough, get on with your business,' boomed a pompous voice from over by the staircases. Harry turned to see Percy striding purposefully toward him. 'He's had enough to deal with without you all making him feel like some kind of contagious hobgoblin.' Harry had rarely ever been pleased to see Percy, but he had to admit this was one of those times.

'Over this way, Harry,' said Percy, laying his hands on Harry's shoulders and steering him away from everyone's stares. 'Ron and your other friends have been asking McGonagall about you all last night and all morning, but she hasn't revealed much. They'll be pleased to see you.'

'Thanks, Percy,' Harry said, and meant it.

'Not at all, Harry,' said Percy pompously. 'You were the biggest victim last night; anyone could see that. It's up to your housemates to ensure you don't suffer even more for it after the fact. We need to stand together in times of adversity, after all.' Harry at first thought that was a bit rich coming from the boy who had abandoned his family to serve his own political career, but he immediately felt ashamed for thinking it; he'd forgiven Percy long ago.

'I appreciate it,' he said. Maybe if Percy could be made to feel like less of an outsider among the people who cared most about him, such a fate could be avoided altogether this time around.

Percy looked pleased, and after he brought Harry over to the bay window where Ron was sitting with all of the other first year Gryffindors, he left to go tell off a couple of boys who were still gawking.

'Harry!' Hermione yelped, hugging him. To his surprise, Lavender and Parvati did the same when she released him. All eight of his year-mates had looks of immense relief painted on their faces.

'We thought you were a goner, mate,' Ron said, clapping him on the shoulder and gripping hard. 'First you started frothing at the mouth having some kind of fit, then you and Quirrel started screaming your heads off and it smelled like burning rubbish. What happened?'

'Didn't Dumbledore tell you?' Harry asked. 'He said he was going to.'

'He told us a few things,' Dean confirmed. 'He said Quirrel had been possessed by You-Know-Who, and that's why he couldn't touch you.'

'And he said you'd been poisoned,' Neville put in.

'That one's true,' Harry said. 'There was poison in my pumpkin juice. It probably would have killed me if I hadn't had a bezaor in my pocket.' Lavender and Parvati gasped, and Hermione, though also sounding concerned, looked quizzical.

'Why did you?' she asked. 'Have a bezoar, I mean? Not that I'm not thrilled you did, of course.'

'Just luck,' Harry lied smoothly. Unlike Dumbledore and Voldemort (and, he reminded himself, probably Snape as well), he didn't have to be careful about what he said. 'I bought it on a lark when I was in Diagon Alley. Completely forgot about it until I felt it in my pocket.'

Seamus whistled. 'That is the luckiest thing I've ever heard,' he said. Ron and Dean nodded in agreement.

'What about You-Know-Who?' Ron asked. 'Was he really possessing Quirrel?'

'That's what Dumbledore told me,' Harry said. 'It sort of makes sense, I suppose. I mean, he tried to kill me and failed once before, right? That makes more sense than Quirrel just randomly not being able to touch me.'

'I think it's real,' Lavender said shakily. 'Didn't you all see what was under his turban?' A collective shudder ran through the group, and Neville and Parvati winced as if they didn't want to remember it.

'What?' Harry asked, feigning ignorance.

'There was...a face,' Lavender explained, though she looked like she'd rather not recall it either. 'On...on the back of his head. Only it didn't look like a normal face.'

'Come on, Lavender,' Seamus began, but she shouted back before he could say any more.

'Don't pretend like you didn't see it, Seamus! Practically everyone in the Great Hall saw it! Acting like you didn't isn't going to make it not real!'

'It was there, all right,' Ron came to his one-time/future girlfriend's defense. 'And it was awful. Like a snake or a vampire or something.'

'Red eyes,' said Neville quietly, his arms wrapped around his knees. He was almost whispering, and he was looking into the distance as if seeing it again.

'And really pale,' Dean added. 'Like a skull or something. And it didn't have a nose.'

'Everyone saw this?' Harry asked. This was something that for all his planning, he'd failed to consider. This was likely to cause at least a minor panic among the student body.

'Most people,' Hermione said. 'Some people were probably too far away, and some might not have had a clear view, but everyone's at least heard of it by now.'

'Dumbledore didn't tell me about that part,' Harry said. He didn't actually know if that was true or not. Without meaning to, he'd sort of zoned out once or twice during the headmaster's explanations of things he already knew. 'He did say that Voldemort got away, though, and left Quirrel to die.' A collective flinch had accompanied his use of Tom Riddle's chosen name. He sighed inwardly. That was something he'd have to get used to again. Most people in his own time had long since gotten over that ridiculous taboo.

'Don't say the name!' Ron chided. Harry resisted rolling his eyes. He could have that argument another time.

'Quirrel is dead?' Parvati asked, once she'd recovered from her shock.

'Apparently,' said Harry. 'I don't know if it was from the burns or from Voldemort leaving his body or both, though.'

Everyone started again, and Ron threw him a dirty look. 'Would you stop saying the name?' So much for having that argument later.

'Or what? He's going to burst in through the window at us?' he replied impatiently. Neville cast a frightened glance out the window.

'No,' said Ron crossly. 'It just...it feels wrong, okay?'

'Dumbledore says fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself,' Harry said. Dumbledore had never actually said those words to him in this timeline, but they carried more weight with his name behind them than if Harry pretended he'd come up with them himself.

'Yeah, well he's Dumbledore, isn't he?' Ron grumbled. Hermione actually looked like she was considering what he'd said, though.

'Oh, come on,' said Harry. 'I will buy a full box of chocolate frogs for the first person here to say Voldemort's name.'

'Not worth it,' Seamus said, shaking his head. Now Dean looked to be contemplating this too, though. Harry supposed it made sense that the two to not have been raised in wizarding society would have the superstition least ingrained in them.

'Does it have to be chocolate frogs?' Lavender asked tentatively. Parvati looked scandalized, Hermione vaguely impressed, and the rest gaped at her in disbelief.

'Lavender! You can't be serious!' Parvati said.

'I'm not saying I will; I'm just curious,' she clarified. Inwardly, Harry was beaming with pride. _There_ was his partner. Evidently the war had been less of a factor in her adult persona as he'd thought. If he ever saw her again – his Lavender, that was – he'd have to apologize for never giving her enough credit when they were in school.

'No, it doesn't have to be chocolate frogs,' Harry said, grinning. 'Anyone who wants to say "Voldemort" can name their prize.' Once more a collective flinch made its way around the group. Harry decided to wind them up a bit more. 'Double points for calling him "Moldy Voldy",' he said, taking a line from one of Peeves's favorite songs from after the war. At this there was more than simple flinching. Seamus practially choked, which was impressive as he had been neither drinking nor eating anything. Parvati clapped her hands to her mouth, and Ron looked like he couldn't decide if he wanted to be amused or annoyed. Dean laughed outright, and even Neville managed a ghost of a smile.

'Blimey, Harry,' said Ron finally. 'I dunno what sort of death wish you've got, but leave us out of it.'

'I don't know,' said Hermione. 'Maybe Harry's right. I mean, what Dumbledore said about fear of a name, that sort of makes sense.'

'Perfectly sensible thing to be afraid of if you ask me,' Ron argued back.

It looked like there was going to be more, but Harry interjected. 'All right, I didn't mean to start an argument,' he said. 'You don't have to say it if you don't want to, Ron, but I'm not going to stop.'

'I would have thought you, of all people...'

Harry shook his head. 'I'm more angry at him than afraid of him,' he said truthfully. 'But that's not the point. Anyway, thanks, everyone, for waiting for me. Sorry the feast got cut short.'

'As if we cared about that!' Hermione exclaimed. 'We're all just happy you're okay.' The rest of them nodded.

'I'll need to write Mum and Dad to tell them you're all right,' Ron said. He was clearly delighted to drop the subject of Voldemort's name. 'The school sent owls to all the parents last night telling them what happened, and I got a frantic letter this morning demanding to know if I was okay, even though they already knew I was.' He shook his head in exasperation at his mother's fussing. 'Fred and George got one too, and Percy. Reckon that's why he was so eager to help you, Harry. Mum was just as worried about you as the rest of us. Ginny – that's my little sister – was practically hysterical, she says.'

All the color drained from Harry's face.

'Sh-she was?'

'Yeah,' Ron confirmed, nodding. Harry was relieved to see that Ron hadn't noticed the change in his demeanor, but in truth that meant very little; if Hermione hadn't noticed, he'd eat his wand.

'I guess she thought You-Know-Who attacked the school or something. I'm not sure, to be honest, Mum didn't go into detail. But she was terrified you'd been killed. Always been a big fan of yours, Ginny has.'

'You don't say,' said Harry vaguely. He'd barely been able to follow Ron's story. How could he have forgotten about Ginny? Of course she'd be in a state of panic. They'd talked to each other via the mirrors every night since he'd bought them, and then on the day she knew he was going to be confronting Quirrel and Voldemort, she hadn't heard from him. Worse, he bet she'd been up all night saying his name into her mirror and getting no reply. He couldn't imagine the turmoil she was going through. He knew he had to end this discussion and get up to his bed as soon as humanly possible, but how to do it without being even more suspicious than he already was?

'Oh, yeah,' Ron went on, oblivious. 'She used to imagine she was going to marry you some day. We'd always take the mickey out of her for it.'

'That's not very nice,' Parvati butted in. Hermione usually would have, but she was busy looking askance at Harry's continued discomfort.

'You're only saying that because you haven't met her,' said Ron. 'Trust me, she can give as good as she gets.'

'Hey, what time is it?' Dean suddenly asked, looking at his wristwatch. He swore. 'We're going to be late.'

'I'm sure Professor Sprout will understand, after last night,' Lavender said.

'I'm actually shocked they haven't cancelled classes today,' said Parvati.

'They'll want to keep things as normal as possible, I expect,' Ron said sagely. 'Keep us all from panicking.'

'Well they pantsed that,' said Seamus with a smirk. 'Look at Hermione!'

'Shut up!' Hermione wailed. She was clutching her hair and dancing from foot to foot as if she really had to use the bathroom. 'I've never been late to a class before, ever!'

'Calm down, Hermione,' said Ron. 'If we leave right now we can still make it.'

'Oh, but...what about Harry?' she asked, looking his way. This was the chance he needed.

'You lot go ahead; I'll catch up. I need to go upstairs and change and everything anyway. Let Sprout know I'm coming, will you?'

There was a token protest, but given how little time they had, it wasn't difficult for Harry to convince them to leave without him. The second the portrait swung shut behind them, he dashed up the stairs three at a time to his dormitory. As soon as he got there, he dove under his pillow for the mirror and practically yelled Ginny's name into it.

He expected to have to try a few times, but when she answered almost immediately, Harry knew he was in trouble.

'Oh, so you finally thought to let me know you're alive, did you?' she snarled. Her hair was a mess, and there were bags under her eyes indicating she hadn't slept. Her voice was also slightly hoarse, as if she'd been saying his name into a mirror for hours on end.

'Ginny, I –'

'You can explain, I'm sure,' she interrupted. 'Let me just tell you what my night was like first, why don't I?' Harry gulped. But he knew there was nothing for it but to let her get on with it. If he tried to defend himself before she'd said her piece, it would only be worse for him.

'There I was, waiting to hear how you'd handled Quirrel. Our usual time came and went, but I reckoned that there might be a bit of a commotion and it was holding you up. Then it was midnight. Then one in the morning. Can you imagine that I was getting a little bit worried by that point?'

'I...'

'No, surely not, because that's when I started calling your name into the mirror every two minutes. All I could think about was watching Hagrid carry you out of the woods, and how this time I wasn't even there.'

A cold hand gripped Harry's heart and wouldn't let go. Of course her mind would go straight to that morning. He wanted to say something, make her feel better, but he couldn't. It was torturous.

' _Then_ mum and dad get a letter from Hogwarts. The owl woke them up at half past two. _Apparently_ one of the professors had been a servant of Voldemort, and had attacked a student. Fancy that! It didn't say who, of course, just that it wasn't anyone in our family and that _everyone was all right_. Mum and Dad guessed it might be you, which is lucky since I was already hysterical by that point and they assumed it was their fault. They spent the next hour trying to convince me that no, it couldn't have been _Harry Potter_ , they were sure he was fine. I shouldn't worry, and they were sorry for even putting the idea in my head.

'After they left, I tried you in the mirror again. After all, _everyone was all right_ , so you should be able to answer now, right? Surely the first thing you'd want to do would be to tell me you were okay. Maybe you'd even tried calling while I was waiting for Mum and Dad to leave and go back to bed. But no, more nothing! The rest of the night, complete silence!'

It was almost unbearable to meet her eyes through this tirade, but to look away would be cowardly. He forced himself to hold her furious gaze.

'In the morning, Mum was sending letters to Ron and the others. I made her ask about you in every single one of them. Even Percy's! As if he'd know anything. I thought to myself, "Okay, maybe they were keeping him in the hospital wing and he couldn't get to his mirror. It's possible!" It was after breakfast now though; surely you'd be there. I called you again, and again, and again. I almost threw the mirror against the wall! Serve you right if I did; let _you_ worry about _me_ for a change. And now here you are, perfectly fine, and I'm a complete wreck, left alone to be driven mad with worry like always! Harry Potter, I swear, when I see you again, I...I...I don't know what I'll do! I either want to hex and strangle you or hug you and cry until I pass out.'

She took several deep, fuming breaths, indicating that she had at last run out of steam. Now was the time to explain, though if he didn't choose his words carefully, he risked upsetting her all over again.

'Ginny, I'm sorry,' he started. She looked ready to go off on him again so he quickly continued. 'Let me say what I need to say and then you can yell at me again if you want. I just had to say that first no matter what. I am sorry, for however much that's worth.'

She huffed and crossed her arms, frowning and looking away from him. Harry knew that was her way of saying she would at least listen to what he had to say.

'They did take me to the hospital wing, you were right about that,' he said. 'Even if it had occurred to me to sneak out, I couldn't have; holding on to Quirrel took a lot out of me. Dumbledore came and talked to me for a bit, and Madam Pomfrey kept me until after breakfast. You know what she's like.'

'Why didn't you contact me right after that, then?' she asked. The angry bite was gone from her voice; she'd worn herself out, and all that was left was hurt. If anything, that twisted the knife in Harry's gut even more.

'That's what I'm apologizing for. Somehow, I had it in my mind that I'd just talk to you tonight like always. I figured you knew they'd send me to the hospital wing, and we've never talked to each other during the day. When I got back to the common room, everyone wanted to talk about what happened. It really scared a lot of people, I think; we're going to have to deal with that at some point. But then Ron mentioned his letter from your mum, and...'

'And you remembered I existed?' She cut in, a bit of the ire returning.

'I could never forget about you!' Harry yelled, wounded. 'How could you even say that? What I meant was that I realized you _had_ expected to hear from me. That sounds stupid now, but I honestly thought our plan was to just talk tonight. Maybe my head wasn't working right. A combination of being poisoned and fighting Voldemort back to back.'

'Wha... _POISONED?'_ She was gaping at him, all signs of anger replaced by ones of shock.

'Didn't Dumbledore's letter mention that?'

'NO! What are you...who poisoned you?'

'Quirrel, of course,' said Harry warily. She was a hair's breadth from cracking; he never would have brought up the poison if he hadn't though she already knew about it. 'It was right before I got hold of him. It's what started the whole thing, in fact. I'm fine, I had a bezoar on me!' He rushed to say that last part, as she was showing signs of hyperventilating.

'You...you...' she panted, trying to catch her breath. 'You are not allowed to do anything dangerous for the rest of the year, do you hear me?' she said. 'I don't care if Voldemort himself shows up at the school and starts the war five years early; you let Dumbledore handle it. I can't take this, Harry, I really can't!'

'I know, I'm sorry. I really am. But after this, you won't have to, because you're coming here next year and we can handle everything together. It won't be like before; I'm not roping Ron and Hermione into all of this again. It'll be just you and me.'

'Don't you dare try to placate me with what you think I want to hear, Harry Potter,' she warned. 'I'm still waiting to hear you say you'll stay out of trouble for the rest of the year.'

'There's no more trouble to get in,' Harry said. 'Everything else that happened in first year – Hagrid's dragon, meeting Voldemort in the woods – none of it will happen now Quirrel's been dealt with. Riddle's gone back into hiding, and we're not likely to hear from him any time soon. The only thing...' he caught himself, but too late, for she had noticed.

' _What_ only thing?' she asked.

'Well, it's not a huge problem,' he began. 'I mean, we can assume it's been taken care of, though obviously I'd much rather have confirmed it.'

' _What are you talking about?'_ Ginny demanded, her patience obviously at its absolute limit.

'I don't know what's happened to the Philosopher's Stone,' Harry confessed, wincing. 'Last time, Dumbledore said it was destroyed, but that was after Quirrel had run his entire gauntlet trying to get it. This time, he didn't even get to make an attempt. I don't know if they'll still destroy it, and I can't ask because there's no reason I'd know about it, but I have to think they'd take the same steps as before.'

'Are you kidding me?' Ginny railed. 'This whole thing was about preventing Tom from getting the damn Stone, and we don't even know if it worked? Are you saying we essentially did such a good job that he might have another chance?'

'Er, I suppose that's the worst case scenario,' admitted Harry. Truth be told, he'd thought the same thing. The more he pondered it though, the more he thought he was worrying over nothing. Dumbledore and Flamel would surely know what Voldemort had been after and reach the same conclusions as before. The only part that bothered him was not knowing, which had always been a sticking point for him. He explained as much to Ginny, and while she agreed he was probably right, she was still not happy about the oversight.

'The best we'll be able to do is watch the obituaries for the Flamels,' she said finally. 'Merlin, that's morbid. How long afterwards did they live last time, do you know?'

'I have no idea. I remember Dumbledore telling me they had some elixer stashed away to get their affairs in order, but whether that took weeks or months or years I couldn't tell you.'

'Fantastic. Well, one more thing for us to worry about, then. I guess we won't have our answer until either Flamel dies or Voldemort comes back.'

A thought occurred to Harry that he had never considered before, but in retrospect seemed so obvious he wondered how he hadn't seen it.

'Would that be so bad?' he said.

Ginny looked at him as though he'd grown a second head. Understandable.

'No, I mean, he's got to come back anyway if I'm going to finish him off for good,' he elaborated. 'And if he uses the elixer then nobody has to die. We wanted to try and save Cedric; that's one way of doing it.'

'The easiest way to save Cedric is to make sure he doesn't go with you, if that even ends up happening again. It's still three years away, so there's no way to know. And besides, do you really want Voldemort coming back in a different way from what we're expecting? Things are getting unpredictable enough already if you ask me.'

'I suppose,' Harry said. 'Though I wouldn't mind avoiding that whole resurrection ritual altogether if I can manage it.'

'I know, love,' said Ginny. For the first time since he'd contacted her, she was looking at him and speaking to him without a trace of anger or irritation in her voice. 'I never want you to go through that again, either. I'd take your place if I could. But didn't you tell me that it was your blood in the ritual that kept you from dying in the Forbidden Forest? If a little bit of suffering keeps you alive in the long run, isn't it worth it?'

'Buggering hell, I'd forgotten about that,' Harry said, clapping his hand to his forehead. 'This is why I'm glad I have you with me. I'd never be able to keep all these details straight on my own. Overlooking minor things has always been Tom's weakness; I'd rather keep it that way.'

'I hope it's not the _only_ reason you're glad I'm here,' she said, arching her eyebrow.

'Of course it isn't,' Harry said. 'But if you're willing to tease me, does that mean you forgive me?'

She let out a long sigh. 'I suppose it does. I really shouln't – you put me through hell last night, you know – but I know you weren't exactly having the best time of it either. Just as long as you _never_ let it happen again.'

'Never,' Harry promised immediately. 'If for whatever reason I think I won't be able to talk to you, I'll let you know the night before so you won't have to worry. Not that I think anything's going to come up, except maybe a Quidditch injury.'

'If I don't hear from you the night after a match, I'll assume that's what happened,' she replied. 'Otherwise, I'm likely to go into panic mode. I can't help it.'

'After everything we've been through, that makes sense. I'm so sorry you had to relive all that again.'

'So you said, and I believe you. I already forgave you, remember? That means _you_ need to stop beating yourself up over it. I know what you're like; you'd be upset about this far longer than me if I let you.'

Harry smiled. Then he remembered what time it was. 'Shite!' he exclaimed suddenly, causing Ginny to jump. 'I'm supposed to be in class!'

'What?'

'We were all running late! I pretended I had to come up here and get changed so I could talk to you. I was supposed to be in the greenhouse twenty minutes ago!'

'You really are reverting to your younger self if being late to class has you that bothered,' Ginny said, taking the mickey. 'All right, you can go. Tell them you couldn't find your socks or something. I'll talk to you again tonight.'

'Right, right. Socks,' Harry said distractedly. 'Love you.'

'Love you.' She vanished and he was left looking at his own reflection. At least that was one crisis dealt with; now he only need worry about how the school was going to take seeing Voldemort appear in the Great Hall on the back of a teacher's head. He'd really only seen a small taste so far. For now however, he had smaller concerns. He waved his wand and the clothes he was wearing traded places with a fresh set from his trunk. He didn't usually like changing clothes in this way – it nearly always made his pants ride up – but it was effective in a pinch. He grabbed his Herbology textbook and dashed down the stairs.

He was thirty-five minutes late, but the five points Professor Sprout took from him would likely have been more were it not for the circumstances of the previous evening.

~O~

The next few days were some of the strangest Harry had ever experienced at Hogwarts, and that was saying something. Students had always heard about terrible things, but until the war was in full swing, most of them had never actually seen a Death Eater, much less Voldemort himself, and certainly not within the walls of the castle.

There was an air of trepidation bordering on panic that permeated every year of every house – even the Slytherins were looking a bit nervous. There was a lot of looking over shoulders, and nobody went to class in a group of less than three. It reminded him of his second year and the scare caused by the Basilisk, or the brief period in his third year after Sirius had broken in and (supposedly) tried to kill Ron. The only difference was that this time, the students were taking extra precautions of their own volition rather than on the direction of the staff. More that one student had already been withdrawn by parents, and while none of the first years had yet been recalled home, they were all waiting for it every day.

'I'm surprised my mum hasn't pulled me out,' Hannah Abbot was saying on the way to their second Herbology class after the incident. 'It's exactly the sort of thing she'd do; when she wrote me it seemed like she might.'

'Our mum too,' Parvati said. 'She really freaked out. I thought she'd pull Padma and me out that first day.'

'I reckon Dumbledore's been talking to them a lot,' Ron said. 'Trying to reassure them, you know? Like they've been doing for us.'

It was true. Ever sense Quirrel's very public death, the staff had been putting on the ultimare air of normalcy, trying to keep the students calm. Just as the students were taking extra security measures into their own hands, the teachers had been making every effort to assure everyone that everything was fine and there was nothing to worry about.

One part of keeping up the appearance of normalcy was keeping the Quidditch season going. The first match of the new term was Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff, and despite the aura of fear that Voldemort's appearance had stirred up, people couldn't help but get excited about it. If Gryffindor won, the house points they'd be awarded would put them ahead of Slytherin, and no one currently enrolled at Hogwarts had ever seen them lose the House Cup.

Harry, for his part, thought it somewhat funny that there had ever been a time when Slytherin had dominated the competition. Except for his fifth year, marred as it was by Umbridge and her Inquisitorial Squad, they had been soundly defeated every year following his first, which had of course been a narrow (and last-minute) Gryffindor victory.

Both Quidditch teams had, with no direction from the staff, taken on the responsibility of raising everyone's spirits, and so had been training hard in the weeks leading up to the match. A much more friendly rivalry than had ever existed with Slytherin sprang forth as a result, with players from both teams swapping good-natured ribbings in the corridors and at meals. When the final Saturday of January finally rolled around, feelings were running so high that it may as well have been the final match of the season.

Oliver's speech was brief but to the point: have fun, but make sure we win. The team congratulated him on his succinctness as they made their way out to the pitch and took their positions. It was a brisk crisp winter day; the sun was shining but there were enough clouds in the sky to make it more grey than blue. The air was cold and dry, but not freezing. It was the kind of weather that wakes you up without wearing you down. Almost perfect Quidditch conditions.

Harry remembered every Quidditch match he'd ever played in. With some he recalled more details than others, but it would be difficult to forget what had been only his second one ever. Snape had refereed (unbeknownst to Harry at the time, to protect him from Quirrel), and he had been determined to catch the snitch as quickly as possible so as to avoid too much unfair treatment from the Potions master. So determined had he been, he had actually set a new all-time Hogwarts record for fastest snitch catch at just under five minutes.

It had also been the only time during his entire Hogwarts career that Gryffindor had beaten Hufflepuff, which was so strange to think about that he actually replayed all their other match-ups in his mind to make sure he was remembering correctly.

There was little chance of things going as smoothly today. For one thing, Snape hadn't even come out to watch the match (though Dumbledore had), and Madam Hooch was handling referee duties as always. For another, even if he could duplicate his record feat, he wasn't sure he wanted to. He looked around the stands at the crowds of students waving their red or yellow banners, cheering and waving and having the time of their lives. This was the most carefree anyone at the school had been since the beginning of term; even if the snitch flew right in front of his face as soon as he took off, he didn't think he could bring himself to take all that away from them so soon.

Harry met the eyes of his Hufflepuff counterpart, a seventh-year boy named Gunther Harris whom he barely remembered, and he could tell they were thinking the same thing. He grinned, and Harris grinned back. This was going to be a fun match.

The whistle blew, and all fourteen players shot into the air. Harry cruised around for a bit, mostly enjoying the cool, clean January air. After a few minutes, Harris came up alongside him.

'You're not really looking for the snitch, are you?' he said.

'Not really,' Harry acknowledged. 'You?'

Harris shook his head. 'Everyone's having too much fun. It seems wrong to try to end it so early.'

'I was thinking the same thing.'

They made sure make a show of flying around; to the spectators it must look like they were marking each other to guard agaist an early snitch catch.

'That whole thing with Quirrel,' Harris said. 'Are you all right? Dumbledore and Sprout said it had something to do with You-Know-Who.'

'Yeah, I'm all right,' Harry assured him. 'It didn't really hurt,' he lied. 'It was more frightening than painful.'

'Understandable, considering. You're not worried he might come back?'

It was Harry's turn to shake his head. 'If Dumbledore were worried, I would be. He says V-...You-Know-Who is too weak to come back without someone else to possess, and they'll be on the lookout for that now.' He had almost said Voldemort's name until he realized that startling someone while they were flying a hundred feet in the air probably wasn't the safest idea.

'That makes sense. Still, you're pretty brave for a first-year.'

'Thanks,' said Harry, not sure how he felt about that comment. 'What do you say to a thirty minute truce? After that we can start actually looking for the snitch.'

'Sounds good,' Harris agreed. 'Exceptions if it flies right in front of you, or if your team is about to fall behind by more than a hundred and fifty.'

'That's fair.' They nodded at each other and flew off to opposite ends of the pitch. If he were playing anyone else (that he didn't know on a personal level), he might not have been so ready to trust his opponent to uphold the bargain, but if you couldn't trust a Hufflepuff, who could you trust? Really, he was more astounded that Harris was so ready and willing to trust _him_.

After about twenty minutes, Lee Jordan began opining that the seekers weren't doing their jobs, and what did they think this was, a leisurely family picnic? Harry and Harris started doing mock dives and silly stunts that made it look like they'd seen the snitch, just to keep people entertained.

'It looks like our seekers have taken my words to heart,' Lee said at roughly the thirty minute mark. 'They're both trying to bluff each other with feint after feint to no avail! It's gotten so bad that if one of them actually caught the snitch at this point, even Madam Hooch is likely not to notice!'

Harry laughed, but their agreed upon time limit was up. Now they were both free to look for the snitch in earnest. The score was 70-30 in favor of Gryffindor, so it was still anybody's match. He switched up his strategy from pretend feinting to an overhead loop of the match. This was a strategy he had worked out with Wood in his original first year, and it had always served him well. With his quick reflexes and superior broom and flying skills, the added difference this put him from the snitch didn't usually matter. Instead it allowed him to make use of his exceptionally attuned observational skills (even moreso now he'd been through auror training) by granting him a view of the entire pitch at once. By circling high above the rest of the action, he was able to monitor the entire play area from a constantly shifting vantage point, thereby maximizing his chances of spotting the snitch.

Harris tried a few more feints – real ones now – but by checking to see where he was aiming, Harry was able to determine there was no snitch and thus avoid falling for them. After his third such attempt, Harris abandoned this tactic and reverted to flying through the match proper in an active hunting pattern. It put him in closer, thereby giving him an advantage if he spotted the little golden ball, but it severely limited the area of the pitch that he could search at any one time.

The match went on for nearly another half hour in this manner. The score was still relatively close, now at 110-60 for Gryffindor. Not much exciting had happened lately though, so Harry decided he'd spice things up a bit. He fixed himself on a spot of grass underneath him and dove. He was in a near vertical dive, concentrating with all his being as though he'd seen the snitch, and was racing to catch it before his opponent. The reaction from Lee and the crowd was enough for him to know that his ruse had worked. Evidently it had been long enough since their feint game for Harris to have forgotten about it, or else he didn't expect a first-year to be able to execute a proper Wronski Feint.

As he neared the ground, he could see Harris barreling toward him at full speed, still unaware he'd been duped. Harry grinned; a fabulous idea had just struck him.

He didn't actually want Harris to crash, so he pulled up a little earlier than he otherwise might have. However, instead of flying off and revealing the trick, he peeled off to his left as though the snitch had taken an unexpected swerve and he was chasing after it. Sure enough, he felt the Hufflepuff seeker pull in right behind him, still convinced that Harry was hot on the tail of the snitch, or at the very least not willing to gamble that he wasn't.

Wondering how long he could keep this going, Harry maintained full speed as he dodged and weaved through the rest of the match, ducking bludgers and skirting around other players at almost dangerously close distances. All the while he kept his gaze fixed straight ahead (while in reality his eyes were darting all around, looking for a telltale glint of gold), giving the impression he was purposefully chasing something. He was careful to make sure Harris was still tailing him; it wouldn't do to attempt a feint on an opponent who wasn't buying it, but the Hufflepuff was still hooked. Harry took him from one end of the pitch to the other, up and down and around, in what would have to have been one of the longest snitch chases in living Hogwarts memory were it actually real. The crowd was going nuts. Lee's commentary revealed that even he wasn't actually sure whether Harry had truly seen the snitch or not.

Deciding he didn't want to wear himself out, Harry took one final dash toward the goalpoasts, then made a very sharp turn just as he was about to go out of bounds. Harris wasn't able to turn as quickly, and Madam Hooch's whistle blew, calling a penalty. Harry slowed down at once and hovered in place. He heard a great groan from the crowd.

'I don't believe it!' cried Lee's amplified voice. 'Either Potter has lost sight of the snitch, or we've just witnessed the most drawn-out feint of all time! Absolutely no pity from this first-year seeker phenom!'

'Did you really see it?' Harris asked, flying over to him as Alicia lined herself up to take the penalty.

'No,' said Harry, unable to keep himself from grinning.

Harris squinted and exhaled loudly through his nose. 'I thought it might be a feint,' he said. 'But when you pulled up and kept chasing it, I figured I must have been wrong, and you really had scene it. You really had me going. Why drag it out for so long, though?'

'I thought we said we were going to make this match fun,' Harry quipped. 'We said we'd look for the snitch for real after thirty minutes, but we never said we wouldn't stop messing around.'

'I can't believe I fell for that,' said Harris, shaking his head. 'You're in the same house as the Weasley twins, all right.'

Madam Hooch's whistle blew again. Alicia had made her penalty shot, bringing the score up to 120-60. It was time for the match to resume.

Harris once again tried a few rapid feints in a transparent attempt to get back at him, but Harry didn't fall for them. Instead, he gradually began decreasing his altitude as he continued his circling pattern; he had seen the snitch, idly whizzing about about a third of the way down the pitch in the direction he was currently heading, just a little below him. All he had to do was keep going while slowly descending and he'd fly right into it.

Closer, closer, he casually drifted toward the snitch, ready to dart after it if it decided it was tired of lazing about. It was mostly just flying in little circles like a house fly. He'd be able to just fly right past it and pluck it out of the sky without even changing speed or direction. That would make for the most anti-climactic snitch catch ever though, and his goal was to make this exciting. When he was about twenty feet out, he shot forward like a bullet. There was a brief shout of excitement from the crowd, but Lee, who must not have seen the snitch, assumed he was feinting again and announced that his opponent wasn't falling for it this time. He'd already come to a stop again by the time anybody else realized what had happened. Madam Hooch's whistle blew, and he held the little golden ball up above his head for all to see. The Gryffindor section of the crowd went mad, Gunther Harris gaped in disbelieve, and Lee was ecstatically calling him a madman while simultaneous extolling his genius.

He came back down for a landing, and the rest of his team practically crashed into him. There was a lot of hugging and yelling – he wasn't sure whose arms were whose through most of it, and when he was finally released it was to see a number of Gryffindor students had run onto the pitch to repeat the performance with their friends who were on the team. Harry was no exception, and he was swarmed a second time, now by his first-year classmates.

'That was bloody brilliant!' exclaimed Seamus jubilantly.

'Are you just trying to top yourself form match to match?' Ron accused good-naturedly.

'I wanted everyone to have fun,' Harry said simply. Dean and Seamus laughed.

'Mission accomplished, I'd say,' said George, who had come over with Fred to clap him on the back, despite having been in the massive team group hug moments ago. 'I reckon Hogwarts hasn't seen a match like that since Charlie was here.'

Harry looked around the stadium, where people were talking excitedly to one another over the match they'd just seen. He smiled, a warm feeling in his stomach. For one day at least, people could stop worrying over Voldemort.

~O~  
~O~  
~O~

This chapter totally got away from me. This isn't what it was going to be about, but I started with a simple idea and it basically spiralled out of control and practially wrote itself. Next chapter we should see time move forward a little more quickly, I think.

As always thank you to everyone who took the time to leave me your thoughts in a review. I love reading them, and rest assured I take all constructive criticism to heart, even if I ultimately decide not to implement all of it.


	7. Chapter 7

I took a short break from this to work on a few other things, but then I got a massive influx of new follows and whatnot, so I figured I shouldn't ignore it entirely. I hope all of you continue to enjoy the story, as I'm certainly enjoying writing it. Drop me a review and let me know what you're thinking.

~O~  
~O~

After that first Quidditch match, things finally started to calm down again. A whole month without any indications that Voldemort was lurking nearby seemed to have done wonders for people's nerves, to the point that some were starting to question what exactly they'd seen in the Great Hall during the feast after all. Harry didn't think this sort of denial was healthy, but considered it preferable to panic.

As they moved into February, a few of the students whose parents had pulled them out of school even started coming back. A large part of this was likely due to how the school was handling the disappearance of one of its teachers in the middle of the year. It was too short notice to find a replacement right away for such a notoriously unlucky position, so in th interim the rest of the staff were filling in. Professor Sinistra took the second years, McGonagall took third, Flitwick fourth, and Snape took sixth (Harry pitied them). As for the first years, and the all-important exam-laden fifth and seventh years, Dumbledore was teaching them himself.

'I can't believe how lucky we are,' Hemione said after their Defense lesson the day before Valentine's Day. 'Learning from Dumbledore himself! I hope it stays this way for the rest of the year!'

Harry couldn't help but agree. He'd never actually witnessed Dumbledore teach a class before, but his reputation as an educator was well deserved. There wasn't anything in the first year curriculum that he didn't already know, of course, but Dumbledore had a way of making even the most mundane things sound interesting, and classes with him were always mentally stimulating. Suddenly it was as if everyone in class had turned into Hermione, and they were all eager to talk about whatever the current topic happened to be. It reminded him of how much fun Dumbledore's Army had been.

'He's definitely better than Quirrel,' Ron said. 'I mean, aside from the obvious reason.' At some point, Harry couldn't tell when, Quirrel being the servant of an evil dark lord had become something to joke about. Not everyone was on board yet, but it was definitely a better way of dealing with the situation than outright denial.

'Not a high bar to clear, really,' Harry said. 'I mean, if you've got access to one of the worst dark wizards in history, at least put it to use in the classroom, right?'

'I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky he didn't teach us _actual_ dark arts,' Ron replied. 'If that was his other option, maybe "nothing at all" was the right way to go.'

'Can you two be serious for a moment?' Hermione said crossly. 'Honestly, I don't know how you can joke about something like that. You-Know-Who being right here in the school is nothing to laugh about!'

'Better to laugh than cry, Hermione,' said Fred, coming up from behind them in the corridor.

'Or curl up in a ball of terror,' George added.

'Right, that too.'

'You two never take _anything_ seriously,' said Hermione. 'But I can't believe how everyone else is acting.'

'Not everyone,' Harry pointed out. 'Plenty of people are still on edge. But would you rather have things back the way they were a month ago, when practically everyone was terrified Voldemort was hiding around every corner of the castle?'

'Well, no,' Hermione admitted. 'But there really has to be some kind of middle ground, don't you think?'

'Things'll settle down again eventually,' George said. 'This is just a coping period. Humor is the best way to deal with a frightening experience.'

'We should know,' said Fred. 'But the more time passes, the less scary it'll be. This time next year, it'll just be a crazy story to tell the new first-years.'

'That almost sounded profound,' said Hermione.

'Don't tell anyone,' said George.

'It'll damage our reputation,' said Fred.

~O~

The next night was something of a big deal. Harry and Ginny hadn't spent a single Valentine's Day apart since getting back together after the war. They usually went on a date out in the Muggle world, where they could be assured of their anonymity and that no one would bother them. Last year, they'd gone to see a live stage production at London's West End. It was something neither of them had ever experienced befor and ended up being very enjoyable. They both led very hectic lives, so it wasn't often they had the opportunity to share something special like that.

This year, they'd be celebrating Valentine's Day through a mirror. Harry tried not to let it bring him down, but the disappointment was difficult to avoid. This would have been their last Valentine's Day before getting married, and Harry had begun planning it almost a year in advance. He'd wanted to take her abroad somewhere, but had woken up in his cupboard before finally narrowing it down.

Harry waited as usual for his dormmates to fall asleep before casting the regular silencing charm around his four-poster. Then he reached under his pillow and pulled out his two-way mirror.

'Ginny,' he said clearly to his own reflection. It was only a matter of seconds before he was greeted with her beaming face.

'Happy Valentine's Day, Harry,' she said immediately. _What's happy about it?_ He wanted to say, but knew that would be unfair. She was clearly trying to salvage as much joy as possible from their predicament; it would be selfish to ruin it.

'Happy Valentine's Day,' he said, putting on the best face he could muster. She was not fooled.

'I know this isn't ideal, Harry,' she said soothingly. 'There's nothing I want more in the world than to be with you right now. But at least we can still see each other, still talk. However bad this may be, it's not like...not like back then.' He knew she was referring to the year they'd spent apart while he was off with Ron and Hermione hunting for Horcruxes. It was something he'd found himself thinking a lot about these past few months as well, however much he'd rather not.

'Merlin forbid,' he said. 'As worried as I was about you, there were definitely times I wished you'd been able to come along.'

Ginny looked momentarily shocked. 'I don't think you've ever admitted that to me before,' she said.

'I've never been forced to think about it before,' he replied. 'I thought I could just put it behind me, that we'd never be separated again. But if I-' he stopped, realizing what he'd been about to say, and then burst out laughing.

'What?' she demanded. 'Just what about this is funny?'

'I was about to say, "If I could go back and tell myself to do it differently",' he explained, struggling to catch his breath.

Had Ginny been drinking anything, it would have sprayed all across the mirror; such was the burst of laughter that she herself broke into at this proclamation

'Oh my goodness, I can't…I can't breathe,' she wheezed in between guffaws.

'What I was _trying_ to say,' said Harry, once they'd both calmed down. He was in a much better mood now. 'was that there were definitely things I would have done differently. Foremost among them would have been not breaking up with you.'

She froze, her eyes wide. 'What, seriously?' she said. 'What about all that, "I couldn't bear it if something happened to you and it was my fault" rubbish?'

'It wasn't rubbish,' said Harry. 'That part was – and is – still true. But you were right, it wasn't just my decision to make; it was yours, too. I should have considered that and I didn't; I'm sorry.'

Ginny had tears in her eyes, and they were not from laughing too hard. 'That is the single most wonderful thing you have ever said to me,' she said. Harry didn't really know what to say, so he smiled somewhat awkwardly. He hadn't really meant to have this conversation tonight, and was not sure how it had come about. She smiled back, recognizing his wrongfootedness, and rescued him. 'This has turned out to be a lovely Valentine's Day after all,' she said. 'Thank you, Harry. I really can't tell you what it means to me to hear you say that.'

There wasn't anything he _could_ say, really. 'You're welcome'? 'Don't worry about it'? They all sounded ridiculous.

'It's something I've been thinking about a lot,' he finally said. 'I was so sure at the time that it was the right thing to do, but...' he trailed off, unable to adequately articulate what he was thinking.

'I know,' she said. 'I really do. I know the kind of stress you were under, and I do understand why you felt it was necessary, I really do. But what we think and what we feel isn't always the same, you know?'

Harry chuckled. 'That sounds like something Dumbledore would say,' he said. 'I know what you mean, though. I think that's what got me thinking about it in the first place. Having you here now would make everything feel so much better, even though it would be a terrible idea. I felt the same back then.'

'At least this time there isn't the constant threat that one of us could end up dead any day,' she offered.

'I suppose there is, that, yes.'

There was a slight pause, and then Ginny said, 'Well after all this, my present to you is going to seem pretty silly in comparison.'

'What? Present?' Harry asked, perking up his ears. Ginny laughed at his transparent mood shift.

'When Hedwig brought me the chocolate you bought for me – thank you, by the way – I sent her back with something for you. She should be there by now if you want to peek out your window and let her in.'

Suddenly as excited as – well, as an eleven year-old – Harry jumped out of bed and darted over to the nearest window, careful not to wake anyone. He opened it up and stuck his head out, peering out into the frigid February night air and looking around. It only took a few moments for Hedwig to swoop into sight, laden with a package wrapped in simple brown paper. She must have been perched nearby waiting for an opportunity to make her delivery.

'Good girl,' he said affectionately, stroking his owl's feathers as he untied her burden. He placed it on his night stand and fished some owl treats out of the drawer to feed her. 'You go have yourself a nice long rest in the Owlery.'

She nipped at his finger and took flight once again, fading into the inky black sky almost immediately.

Harry returned to the solitude of his four-poster and recast his silencing charm before opening the package.

'It's heavy,' he said, weighing it in his hand while untying the string that bound it.

'You'll see why in a minute,' Ginny said. Either his excitement was catching, or she was just as anxious for him to open it as he was.

He peeled back the paper, and found contained within a full helping of his favorite dessert, treacle tart. Better still, Weasley-made treacle tart.

'I convinced mum I really wanted some, and we made it together,' Ginny explained after his yelp of delight. 'I know you like hers better than mine, but as it was for Valentine's Day, I felt like I had to at least help make it.'

'What do mean I like hers more?' Harry asked. He tried to sound indignant, but as he'd just greedily taken a huge bite of the tart, it mostly just came out garbled. He swallowed before continuing. 'I mean yeah, your mum's is great, but yours comes from you. No contest, really.' He took another great bite, and to his embarrassment found himself fighting back tears. He hadn't eaten anything this good in what felt like forever.

'I'm glad you're happy,' she said.

'You have no idea,' said Harry, wiping his eyes. 'This is what I've been missing. A taste of home. This is the best possible thing you could have sent. Thank you.' Ginny looked very pleased.

'Oh, and I have one more bit of good news for you,' she said.

'Oh, more?' he said, forcing himself to put the rest of the tart away and save it for later. 'It must be good if you saved it for last.'

'You do know me,' she grinned. 'Anyway, I've been very subtly dropping hints to mum that Ron and the others should come home for Easter, even though they normally don't, since things at the castle are so stressful right now. Kind of feeling the safety of home, you know? And I _may_ have implied that she should tell Ron to invite you, as you don't have anywhere else to go and you're probably really scared what with everything that happened to you last month.'

'You're joking,' Harry said, his heart practically stopped. He would get to see her in person – and Mr and Mrs Weasley, too – months before they had initially planned.

'Of course not. We said we were going to try to figure something out for this, didn't we?'

'We did, but that was months ago, and Ron hasn't said anything, so I reckoned it wasn't happening.'

'Oh ye of such little faith,' Ginny said dramatically. 'I don't have a lot else to occupy my time; scheming to trick mum into inviting you while making her think it's her idea is a good way to pass the hours.'

'You're a little bit terrifying sometimes,' Harry told her, 'but I love you. I take it the plan looks like it's working, then? You wouldn't have told me otherwise.'

'Right,' she said, nodding. 'I heard her talking to Dad about it the other day. He's all for it, of course. Thinks it would be fun to meet you, and you know how Mum is. As soon as she realized it would be a chance to take care of you, she was basically hooked. It's just a matter of time now.'

'She hasn't even met me yet, though,' Harry pointed out.

'You think that matters? Ron has told her all about you, and he didn't neglect to mention the way you grew up. She's itching for a chance to fuss over you.'

'I do miss your mum,' he said fondly.

'I know you do. This will be good for both of us. A chance to see each other again sure, but also just to be around everyone again all together. Surprising as it may be, I do actually miss Ron and George. And Fred! I can't wait to see Fred again. It was so wonderful but so painful to have him here last summer; I think now the shock has worn off, it'll be lovely to just be able to enjoy his presence again.'

'It really is,' Harry said. 'I don't know when it happened, but at some point I stopped being surprised to see him every morning at breakfast. Now he's just here; it's like it used to be.'

'I'm looking forward to that,' Ginny said. 'The first time I found myself annoyed with him, I felt horrible for the rest of the day. Ashamed. Like I should be just grateful that he was alive and let him get away with whatever he wanted.'

'I know what you mean,' said Harry. 'But after a few weeks of Quidditch practice, I found myself getting over that feeling rather quickly.'

'Oh, we can play Quidditch together!' she suddenly said excitedly.

'I thought they never let you play with them when you were younger?'

She narrowed her eyes and spoke as if he were very dim. 'Do you expect me to give a toss about that?'

'Well no, I suppose not,' he chucked. 'Blimey, that'll be fun to see.'

'Also, while you're here, you can let me borrow your wand,' she said matter-of-factly. 'I'm going stir crazy not being able to do any magic. I just need to make things float around a bit to remind myself I still can.'

'Of course you can borrow it, but what about the Trace?'

'As long as I only do magic in the house, the Ministry will just assume it's Mum or Dad,' she said, unconcerned.

'That's a good point,' Harry said. An idea struck him. 'Maybe I can perform some diagnostic charms on the two of us while we're at it. Whatever sent us here is affecting both of us, so it might be easier to detect when we're together.'

'Brilliant, Harry!'

'It's a plan, then.'

~O~

A little over a week later, Ron received a letter at breakfast. After they'd extricated Errol from the tureen of porridge he'd landed in and sent him to the Owlery for a rest, he opened it up.

'It's from Mum,' he announced. Harry forced down a hiccough; he knew what he hoped this was about, but he couldn't say anything just yet.

'What does she want?' he asked casually after taking a calming swig of juice.

'She's saying she wants us all to come home for the Easter hols,' Ron said. 'That's a bit weird; no one ever came home during Easter before that I remember.'

'She's probably still worried about you after what happened when we got back from Christmas,' Hermione said.

'You reckon? That was ages ago. Nothing else has happened; what's to be worried about?'

'Honestly Ron, is it that hard to understand?' Hermione said impatiently. 'Can't you imagine how terrifying it must be a parent to learn that You-Know-Who appeared at your children's school, and there was nothing you could do about it? That you were nowhere near them when it happened and couldn't have done anything even if you'd known?'

'Well yeah, but nothing _did_ happen. And Dumbledore's here, so we're about as safe as we can be, right? I mean, even if You-Know-Who tried to sneak back in again for some reason, it's not like Dumbledore's going to let anything happen to us. Everyone always says he's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of.'

Hermione shook her head in disbelief.

'You clearly have no idea what it's like to be a parent,' she said.

'Well to be fair, neither do you,' said Harry cheekily. For one mad second, he thought maybe he'd accidentally stumbled on something. Maybe she _did_ know what it was like. Maybe this Hermione was in a situation just like his own, only from further in the future. Maybe…

'Okay fine, that's true,' she admitted. 'But at least I try to understand.'

No, that was ridiculous. If Hermione were from the future like him, she would have recognized him immediately in the same way he and Ginny had recognized each other: they were not acting like themselves. Not their eleven year-old selves, anyway. And much as he may wish otherwise, this slightly superior, impatient but awkwardly helpful girl was exactly what twelve year-old Hermione had been like.

'All right, all right, I'm sorry,' said Ron. 'Blimey. It's not like I don't want to go, anyway. It'll be a nice break. She says I should invite you, Harry. Want to come?'

'Yeah?' he asked, feigning surprise. 'That sounds brilliant.'

'Our house isn't much,' Ron started, but Harry interrupted him.

'It could be a shed in a swamp and I guarantee you it'll still be better than what I grew up with,' he said.

'We actually have one of those,' Ron joked. 'It's not the main part of the house, though.'

'Just keeps getting better,' Harry said.

At that moment, Fred and George came over and sat next to them, pushing some second years out of the way to do it.

'Percy says Mum wants us to go home for Easter,' Fred began without preamble. 'She sent him a letter about it.'

'We saw Errol crash over here earlier, so we were wondering if you got one, too,' said George.

'Yeah, right here,' said Ron, handing the letter in question to the twins.

'Figures,' Fred grumbled. 'Never tells us anything, does she? Expects us to hear it all through the grapevine.'

'This does say to give it to you after I've read it,' Ron said.

'Pish posh,' said George. 'As if that makes it any better.'

'Are you going to come?'

'I suppose we might as well,' said Fred, handing the letter back to Ron. 'Not like we've got anything better to do around here. Besides, you know Mum. She'll still be fretting about ol' what's-his-face. She won't believe we're all safe until she sees it with her own eyes.'

Hermione flashed a viciously triumphant grin, which Ron attempted pointedly to ignore.

'I guess Ginny was really upset, too,' George said. 'She probably wants to see us all as much as Mum does.'

'I'm not so sure it's _us_ she's hoping to see,' said Fred, turning to Harry and waggling his eyebrows. He wanted to laugh, but he had to play his role.

'What are you on about?' he asked.

'Didn't Ron say?' said George. 'You're invited too, Harrykins. Mum would love for us all to think it was her idea, but if Ginny hasn't been talking about wanting to meet you since Ron first mentioned you were friends, I'm a Slytherin.'

'Those letters we got after the feast specifically told us all to watch out for you, Harry,' Fred said. 'And to report back on how you were doing. Seems poor Ginny thought You-Know-Who had come to the school specifically to kill you.'

A trace of guilt wormed its way back into Harry's heart for just a moment, and he was unable to keep it from showing on his face. Fortunately, they seemed to interpret it as embarrassment.

'All right, lay off him, you two,' said Ron. 'In case you forgot, You-Know-Who _did_ try to kill Harry that night.'

'Ah, right,' said Fred awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. 'Sorry about that, Harry.'

'Got a little carried away,' said George.

'Don't worry about it,' said Harry.

'You're letting them off easy,' Ron said. 'They almost never apologize for anything.'

'That's because we almost never do anything worthy of an apology, Ronald,' George said in a fairly good imitation of Percy's formal demeanor.

'But we can admit when we mess up,' said Fred.

'Never mind that,' said George, back to his regular self. 'Are you coming, Harry?'

'Yeah, I am,' he said. 'I already told Ron; I'd be daft not to.'

'Brilliant!' Fred cheered. 'We'll be able to play Quidditch! Percy doesn't play and we'd have odd numbers otherwise.'

'Ginny doesn't play?' Harry asked innocently.

The three brothers looked at each other, bemused. 'Not usually, why?' said George.

'Oh, no reason,' Harry said. 'Just wondering.'

'Well, no doubt she'll want to if you're there, Harry,' Fred said. 'We may end up having to teach her after all.'

'Wouldn't that just be odd numbers again?' asked Ron.

'Well, we'll have to let her watch, at least. You know she won't let up unless we do.'

It was all Harry could do to hold in his laughter; he paid careful attention to the conversation so that he could repeat it back to Ginny later.

'That'll be all for us,' said George finally. 'We've got to go see Lee about a few items of questionable nature before classes start. Cheers.' He swiped a slice of toast from Ron's plate and started off, Fred close behind him. Ron grumbled and started buttering another slice.

'Sometimes I just don't understand them,' he said. 'They were always the ones saying we shouldn't let Ginny play. Now we're letting her join just like that?'

'Well I think you _should_ let your sister play if she wants to,' said Hermione fiercely. 'What reason do you have to exclude her other than that she's a girl?'

'None, really,' said Ron. 'I mean, it's probably also that she's younger than all of us, too.'

'Isn't she just a year younger than you?' Harry asked.

'Yeah,' said Ron, apparently missing the point. 'Did I tell you that? I must've. Still though, she acts a lot younger than that. Cries a lot, never shuts up. Little sister stuff.'

'I wouldn't know anything about that,' said Harry. In his mind he was trying to picture Ginny the way Ron was describing her – indeed, the way he had described her when they were young before, as well. Except for a brief glimpse on Platform 9 ¾ on his very first day of Hogwarts, Harry had never seen that version of Ginny. The only one he knew other than the fierce, brave, and confident woman he'd fallen in love with, had been a silent, shy, smitten young girl who still possessed more nerve that most people he'd met. Try as he might, Harry could not reconcile either version with the child Ron claimed to have grown up with.

Hermione, for her part, still looked annoyed. 'Maybe if you lot treated her like a _person_ from time to time instead of a _little sister_ , she wouldn't be so bad,' she snapped.

'Yikes!' yelped Ron, jerking back as if burned. 'Blimey, Hermione! Why does this bother you so much? You don't even know her!'

'I would have thought _you,_ Ron, would know what it's like to be the younger sibling who just wants to spend time with your older brothers, and how much it hurts when they don't let you. Were you so excited when they finally let you join in that you forgot what that felt like?'

To his credit, Ron did look slightly ashamed of himself. Harry decided to take pity on him.

'Maybe that's just how things work in big families, Hermione,' said Harry. He was talking out of his arse, but he mostly just wanted to diffuse the tension. 'After all, Fred and George just said they were willing to let Ginny play. Maybe it's like a rite of passage or something. It seems unfair, but neither of us could really understand what that's like, right?'

'Maybe,' said Hermione slowly. Harry could see the wheels turning in her head; she accepted that Harry had a point, but she didn't want to stop being indignant. 'Still, Ron, you don't need to talk about her like she's nothing but a pest.'

'I'll remind you again that you've never met her, but all right,' said Ron. 'Maybe she won't whinge if you're there, Harry. She'll want to look good in front of you.'

'If you say so,' said Harry, holding back his laughter again. 'Where do you live, exactly?'

'Ottery St. Catchpole,' said Ron. 'It's a village in Devon.'

'Do many magical people live there?' asked Hermione, who seemed to have put her irritation aside for the sake of her curiosity.

'A few,' said Ron. 'I know we're not the only ones, but I couldn't tell you the names of any other families. It's a small village though, so probably not very many. It's still mostly Muggles.'

'How are you able to blend in with them?' she asked. 'I mean no offense, Ron, but you're not exactly an expert on Muggles. Wouldn't they notice a family of wizards?'

'They probably would, yeah. _Definitely_ would if we're talking about _my_ family. We actually live a bit outside the village though, so no one pays us any mind.'

'I'm looking forward to it,' Harry said. _You have no idea how much_.

'Well, just don't get too excited or anything,' Ron murmured. 'I wouldn't want you to be disappointed.'

'Not bloody likely,' Harry laughed. Hermione told him off for swearing, and the three of them spent the rest of breakfast arguing over whether or not "bloody" should be considered a swear.

~O~

The next month and a half passed interminably slowly. Harry was not used to Hogwarts without a mystery or crisis to be dealt with. He had a feeling that even if he _wasn't_ stuck in lessons he'd already mastered years before, he'd _still_ be bored out of his mind.

Was this what school was like for most people? Was this what it would have been like for him as well if not for Voldemort? How could people stand it? Even the novelty of living in a magical castle grew stale when all you did was go to the same lessons every day and sit and do your homework every night.

Maybe he wasn't being fair. Maybe the real eleven year-old Harry would still have been having the time of his life, and it was just the tedium of repeating such basic topics that was driving him mad. Still, playing Quidditch and talking to Ginny every night could only help so much. There was literally nothing else to do. He almost wished he'd waited until after Hagrid's dragon escapade before outing Quirrel, just so he'd have something to break the monotony.

Even the excitement of having Dumbledore for a teacher didn't last. By the end of March, a substitute had been found who would be able to finish out the rest of the year. He was an American named Overdeck who was in the country visiting friends, and had experience teaching overseas. He'd been planning to return home in May, but Dumbledore had somehow managed to get him to stay for an extra month.

Professor Overdeck was certainly interesting in his own way – his accent and blunt straightforward attitude were novelties, at least – but that still didn't change the fact that Harry already knew the entire curriculum. He wished he were in one of the older classes; apparently Overdeck's specialty was dueling, and the fifth to seventh years were having a grand old time.

'Of all the luck,' Ron whinged one morning on the way to defense. 'We actually get a dueling expert for a teacher, and we're too young to learn how to duel. Wish he was staying on.' At breakfast and in the common room the night before, all the older students were talking about the fantastic practical defense lessons they'd had. Even Percy, who was delightedly proclaiming how much this would help him on his O.W.L.s, had been hard pressed to disguise how much he'd enjoyed himself.

When they arrived in the classroom, Professor Overdeck was already standing at the front waiting for them. He was a tall, slender man with an equally slender nose. He was clean-shaven with a friendly looking face, and had close-cropped brown hair that was mostly covered by a tan bowler hat. His hat matched the color of his robes, which were in the American style and looked more like a Muggle overcoat than proper wizarding robes. The class quickly took their seats, eager to see where this unknown entity would take them.

Harry noted, interestingly, that Overdeck did not give the slightest pause when reaching his name while taking register. Indeed, he was Harry's only teacher ever besides McGonagall not to call attention to him in some way during his first lesson. He knew he wasn't as well known in America as he was in Britain, so perhaps Overdeck had no idea who he was? That would certainly be refreshing, although Dumbledore must have told him, surely.

'Welcome everyone!' Overdeck called out once the register was complete. It was still jarring to hear an American accent used so brazenly within Hogwarts. Harry knew next to nothing about the different dialects in America; he wondered where exactly Professor Overdeck was from. 'I know the yeah is mostly auva, but there's still a lot for us to get through. Sadly, I don't have as much time to get to know all auf you as I might like, but I'll do what I can. Now, as fah as auur curriculum goes, I see Professah Dumbledoah has been catching you up aun some basic counta curses and anti-jinxes. I thought maybe we could test how fah you've come with them, but in aurda to do that, we'll need the actual jinxes. So that's what we'll be doing today.'

'What?' asked a shocked Parvati.

'We're learning jinxes?' asked Seamus who sounded entirely too excited about the prospect.

'Nothing too nasty. The more enterprising auf you may have worked some auf these auut already. We just need a basis to practice the countas,' explained Overdeck. 'And maybe to have a little fun,' he added with a grin.

He split them into pairs and had them start practicing _Rictumsempra,_ the tickling jinx. There were a lot of false starts, and Harry very nearly revealed himself by reflexively deflecting an almost perfectly cast jinx from Hermione, whom he was partnered with. He managed to stop himself at the last second; it had been a very long time indeed since he'd allowed himself to actually be hit by a spell.

The peels of laughter induced by the spell lasted only moments, before Overdeck wordlessly lifted it and granted Hermione five points. Harry, feeling cheeky and maybe just a little vindictive, cast the jinx back at Hermione and made no effort to pretend he couldn't do it. Hermione doubled over in helpless laughter before Harry, too, was awarded five points. They were then allowed to work with Ron and Neville, who were still having some trouble. Once everyone was able to perform the jinx adequately, he had them practice taking it off each other with the counterjinx they'd already studied. That was when things really got crazy.

All in all, they learned to perform a Helium Hex, which gave the victim an unnaturally high-pitched voice, the Chittering Jinx, which caused all speech to be accompanied by squirrel-like stuttering, and the Curse of Verse, which forced one to speak in rhyme. It was a textbook example of organized chaos. All around the room, students were laughing as their friends spoke in squeaks, recited bad poetry and impersonated squirrels. It was a level of fun for a defense class worthy of Professor Lupin. But that was before they realized they'd walked right into a trap.

'Sir, please pardon me,' said Hermione around the end of the lesson. 'I'm a little confused, you see. I can't help but wonder if you've made a bit of a blunder. These spells you've just taught us, while they're awfully good fun, we know how to counter only the first one. The object, I thought, was to give us a curse that we then would have to try to reverse. Yet we're all still hexed and we have History next.'

'No blunda, Miss Granga. Homewok! You must each research the curse with which you have been afflicted and learn to apply the counta curse by yourself. Anyone still jinxed the next time I see you will fail the assignment.'

There was an outpouring of angry muttering. 'You t-t-t-t can't-t-t-t-t-t-t be t-t-t-t-t-t serious!' Ron chittered angrily through his two front teeth, currently looking as prominent as Hermione's.

'I'm quite serious, Mista Weasley,' said Overdeck. 'Don't worry, the autha teachers know about the assignment; you won't get in trouble with any auf them if you aren't able to manage it.'

'Right, I'll believe that!' Seamus snapped. 'If Snape is all right with this, I'll eat my hat!'

'We don't have this class for three more days!' Lavender squeaked, sounding very much like a cartoon mouse. Harry pursed his lips trying to hold in his laughter. Knowing he would sound much the same if he tried to talk didn't make it any less funny. 'Will we really have to stay jinxed that whole time?'

'Not if you were paying attention when Professah Dumbledoah taught you about counta spells. Oh, and befoah anyone gets any ideas, I'll be jinxing you again next class to see if you can undo it, so no point asking someone else to do it fah you.'

More outraged grousing erupted, but they were cut off by the end of class bell, and Professor Overdeck unceremoniously chivying them out the door.

'I can't believe this!' Lavender squeaked furiously as the whole lot of them made their way to the History of Magic Classroom. 'I can't imagine anything more embarrassing! And to think that class seemed fun! And shut up laughing, Harry, you don't sound any better than I do!'

Harry had been unable to hide his continued giggles.

'No, but I reckon I'm taking it better,' he said, then immediately laughed at himself. He sounded as if someone were playing an old LP of his voice on too many RPMs.

'How can you be so calm?' Dean asked in an equally shrill voice.

'I dunno,' said Harry, shrugging. 'It's just funny, isn't it?'

'Maybe t-t-t-t-t for t-t-t-t-t-t-t you!' chittered Parvati. 'At-t-t-t-t-t-t least t-t-t-t-t you t-t-t-t-t can t-t-t-t-t-t-t still t-t-t-t-t-t-t speak t-t-t-t normally!'

'No doubt about it,' said Seamus, 'you and Ron got the worst of it.' He paused and cocked his head, as if in deep thought about something. Then he said, 'Dean, mate, I think your jinx was second rate. I haven't got a single poetry book on my shelf, but even I know not to rhyme a word with itself.'

'Can we focus, please!' Lavender squeaked. 'How are we going to make it go away? Hermione, do you have any ideas?'

Hermione had been deep in thought since they left the classroom, and looked almost shocked to be being addressed. She considered a moment before saying, 'He said we should know what to do, that Dumbledore gave us a clue. But I just can't recall what he told us at all...I've no idea, Harry, do you?'

Harry did, in fact, know exactly what to do, and moreover he knew the lesson Overdeck was trying to teach them. The fact that Hermione of all people could not remember Dumbledore giving them the solution only a week before was a sign that it was a lesson sorely needed. A lesson that he, Ron, and Hermione had been forced to learn the hard way on his first experience. So had the others, though not for much later. Learning it in a controlled environment was definitely preferable.

'No idea,' he echoed, shrugging.

~O~

Ginny burst out laughing when he answered her in his mirror that evening. He had forgotten to remove the jinx on himself. Her laughter was contagious, causing him to crack up into great peals of high-pitched laughter reminiscent of a dog's chew toy being squeezed rapidly over and over. This sounded so silly it made her laugh even harder. It was several minutes before they were both able to calm down enough to actually speak.

'What on Earth happened to you?' she asked, still giggling like mad.

He silently lifted the jinx before replying, telling her about Overdeck's lesson that day.

'And nobody's figured it out yet?' Ginny asked. 'Not even Hermione?'

'Not yet. That's what he's getting at, I'm almost certain of it. It's a lot easier to remember defensive spells in the safe, controlled environment of a classroom compared to the stress of a real world situation. Hermione wasn't always the best at keeping her head in a crisis when she was younger.'

'So everyone is still talking like that?'

'No, just me, Lavender, and Dean. Ron and Parvati are chittering like squirrels, and Hermione, Seamus, and Neville are speaking in rhyme.'

'Oh, Merlin's bits, that's priceless!' said Ginny, breaking into delighted laughter again. 'I wish I could see it!'

'It's pretty funny, I'm not going to lie,' Harry said. 'I'm tempted to give them hints on how to solve it, though. It's kind of stressing them out.'

'I guess I can see how it would,' she said. 'Maybe just give it one more day.'

'You're really enjoying this too much,' he teased.

'I'm starved for entertainment!' she cried, her eyes going wide. 'You would not believe how boring it is around here! I don't remember it being this bad when I was really just ten, but I suppose it must have been. Mum's not even giving me lessons anymore; she reckons I've mastered everything I need. I thought I'd be happy about that, but now there is literally nothing for me to do. I have to help tend the chickens of course, and there's the occasional de-gnoming, but other than that there are absolutely zero demands on my time. I've no wand, the games I would have played as a child offer no comfort obviously, and I can only sneak into the broom shed so often without Mum noticing. I'm going spare, I really am!'

'I know, love,' Harry said, trying to put a soothing tone in his voice. 'I remember what last summer was like for me, and I only had to put up with it for two months. I can't fathom how you're dealing with this, I really can't. But just remember: only one more week and I'll be there with you. We'll be able to try undoing whatever sent us here, and even if we don't learn anything, at least you'll have someone to spend time with for a change.'

'I reckon that's all that's keeping me sane at this point,' she said. 'And we can play Quidditch! Oh, I can't wait to see Fred's and George's faces. Ron's, too. That really will be fun.'

'For me as well,' Harry said. 'Oh, you should have seen Hermione's reaction when she heard they didn't let you play with them.'

'What, what's this?' Ginny asked. 'When did this happen?'

'A while ago,' Harry said. 'I forgot to tell you. I think it was right around when your Mum's letters came inviting us to come home.'

'What did she say?'

'She was really indignant,' Harry said. 'Said they should treat you like a person instead of just a "little sister". Ron was really caught off guard.'

'Oh, I wish she and I had been friends when I was little,' said Ginny longingly. 'I miss her!'

'Won't be long before you're seeing her again, too,' Harry reminded her. 'Just a few months until Diagon Alley.'

'I'm already counting down the days until September,' she confessed. 'Is that pathetic or what?'

'Not at all. I did it all the time growing up. Did it this past summer, too. Reckon I'll start doing it again the first day I get back to Privet Drive.'

'I really hate that you have to go back there,' said Ginny, suddenly angry. 'Really, there's no need for it. You could just stay with us; everything would be fine!'

'I know that, and you know that, but there'd be no convincing Dumbledore without telling him the truth, and we both agreed that would be a terrible idea. Besides, I haven't even met your parents yet from their perspective; a bit early to be asking to move in, don't you think?'

'What about Sirius, then?'

'He's still in prison, remember?' Harry answered, feeling a stabbing pain in his gut. The reason for that was sleeping feet away from him, and he'd yet to do anything about it. He still felt like the timing wasn't right, but the longer things went on, the more feeble that reasoning sounded.

'Why don't we get him out?' Ginny asked. 'We could. Just expose Wormtail the way you did Quirrel.'

'Don't think I haven't thought about it,' Harry told her. 'Repeatedly. 'I see the little shite bag almost every day, you know. It's usually just for a couple of seconds, but the urge to just grab him up and strangle him never really goes away.'

'You never told me about this!' said Ginny, aghast. 'I mean obviously I knew he was there, but you never brought him up!' She paused, as if realizing something. 'And I've never asked,' she said quietly. 'Why?' The question was more to herself, but then she turned back to Harry and said, 'Why haven't we ever talked about this? Everything else we go over in the smallest detail, but neither of us has ever brought up Wormtail even once. _I_ forgot, which is awful and I hate myself for it, but you've been actively avoiding talking about it. Why?'

'Because I didn't want to have this exact conversation,' said Harry, wincing. 'I knew we would eventually. And I know we have to do something about him. And I want to get Sirius out, of course I do! But...I can't explain it, but it's not the right time.'

'Not the right _time_? What the hell is that supposed to mean? And don't tell me you can't explain it; you'd damn well better try! And if I don't like your explanation, I'll strangle the little ball bag myself when you lot come home.'

Harry put his head in his hands. This was going worse than expected, though he'd known not talking about it with her had been a risk.

'It's...' he started to say, but the moment he tried to explain himself, he couldn't remember exactly what his reasoning had been. It was as if it had abandoned him completely, or was never there to begin with. All he was left with was, 'It was a gut feeling. I've learned to trust those. I don't know what else to say.'

'Unh-uh, not good enough,' she said, shaking her head. 'Harry, I trust you, I do, but this...I can't understand this. How could you, of all people, not want to get this sorted out as quickly as possible? The man who betrayed your parents could be locked up tomorrow, Sirius could be free again, and Voldemort might not even come back!'

'That's it!' Harry said, the answer clicking in his mind. 'Ginny, that's it! If Wormtail goes to Azkaban, he won't go back to Voldemort, and Voldemort won't come back!'

'Right, I just said that,' Ginny said, bemused. 'So why don't we just-'

'No, I mean that's why we can't do anything yet!' he interrupted. Ginny looked, if anything, more confused.

'What the fuck are you talking about?'

'Think about it,' he said, glad to finally have a firm grasp on the situation. 'If Voldemort doesn't come back in a few years, that doesn't mean he's gone. All it means is that he'll come back some other time, some other place, in a way we're not expecting. It's the same reason we couldn't let him get his hands on the Philosopher's Stone, remember? You were the one who said it's not worth letting things become so unpredictable.'

This actually gave her pause, and it was several seconds before she spoke again. 'Okay, _maybe_ you're making some sense. But it's still a risk, isn't it? Every day we don't do something is a day Wormtail could just run off, and then we'd have no way of clearing Sirius's name.'

'I can't imagine he'd scarper without anyone giving him a reason to. Even last time, with Sirius on the loose, he hung around for a good part of the year, and even when he did run off, he only went as far as Hagrid's. I'm pretty certain he's not going anywhere.'

'But what about Sirius?' Ginny asked. 'Don't you want to get him out?'

'Of course I do! What kind of question is that? But how can we do that without exposing Wormtail?'

'I don't know. But doesn't that mean we should just do it? What are we waiting for? If we need Wormtail to go back to Voldemort, what does it matter if he does it a year or two earlier than before?'

Now it was Harry's turn to stop and think. _Was_ waiting the best plan? Would it not be better to get everything out in the open and dealt with as quickly as possible?

'Let's think this through,' he said. 'If we make a mistake, there'll be no taking it back. Let's say we expose Wormtail now, and Sirius is freed. What happens next?'

'We couldn't let him go to Azkaban,' Ginny said. 'You were right about that; I hadn't even thought of it. That means we'd have to make sure he got away without anyone noticing we were doing that.'

'We'll worry about how later,' said Harry. 'Let's assume we pull it off. Then what?'

'Well, what happened last time? He went back to Voldemort and they hatched the plan to bring you to the graveyard, right?'

'That's the problem, I think,' said Harry. 'That plan doesn't work without the Triwizard Tournament, which hasn't even been announced yet. Plus, they'd need Barty Crouch Jr, and there's no way they know about him yet.'

'How did they find out last time?'

Harry thought. It was a long time ago, but he seemed to recall this was an important detail. A few seconds of drawing a blank, then an image of a ghostly woman he'd never met, emerging from Voldemort's wand, urging him to fight. Bertha Jorkins.

'It was Bertha Jorkins!' he cried triumphantly, happy to have finally remembered something important and useful. 'She knew about Crouch and Voldemort tortured it out of her.' His excitement fell rapidly, along with his face. 'He killed her.'

'Oh, no,' said Ginny, her hand over her mouth.

'Well nuts to that line of thinking,' said Harry. 'I'm not sacrificing a woman's life for the sake of the plan.' _Like Dumbledore would._

'Of course not,' Ginny agreed. 'But then what'll we do? If he doesn't have Crouch, the plan won't work, and we'll have no way to predict what he'll do.'

'I'm not sure I'm all right with subjecting Mad-Eye Moody to a year under Crouch's control, either,' said Harry, thinking out loud. 'But it's better than him getting killed. And who knows what might happen otherwise? The Horcrux in my head will never be destroyed if Voldemort doesn't get a body, and as long as we're controlling how he gets one, we can minimize casualties.' Just saying the words made him ill. 'Merlin, I don't envy Dumbledore at all. These decisions are impossible. Leaving Sirius in Azkaban, trapping Moody in a trunk for a year, letting Wormtail and Crouch go free…I can't stand it.'

'Are we really leaving Sirius in there?' Ginny asked. 'I didn't think we'd decided on that yet.'

'We hadn't, but I think we might have to. The Triwizard plan is something we can foresee and manipulate. If we let them try something else, we'll be flying blind.'

'But how are we going to do it? You're right that we can't let them have Bertha Jorkins. If they never learn about Crouch, they'll never come up with the plan in the first place.'

Harry had known it would come to this as soon as he'd remembered Bertha's fate. He'd been trying to think of another way, since he knew Ginny wasn't going to like it, but there was nothing for it.

'We'll have to free Crouch and send him to Voldemort ourselves.'

~O~

~O~

~O~

I ended up introducing some elements earlier than I had intended to, but it came about naturally and made sense, so I decided to keep it. I was also originally planning to end this chapter on the train, but that last line was too good and I had to go out on it.

Reviews are nectar and ambrosia. Thank you to all who have taken the time to leave me your thoughts.


	8. Chapter 8

Okay, I know it's been a while. First I was distracted by NaNoWriMo, then I went home for the first time in two and a half years, then I was beta reading a novel for a friend of mine, then I was moving, and then aliens tried to kidnap me, and you know how it is. I may have made one of those up.

I'm excited to be getting back into Harry's adventure. This chapter was already partially written before all the hubbub described above, so I had to go back and see exactly what I was doing to avoid a really obvious seam.

Thanks very much to everyone who's been reviewing. I should be replying to them, and I apologize for not doing that. Gotta get back on the ball. Also, many people have offered suggestions as to where this story should go, or how certain elements should be dealt with. While I relish the enthusiasm, rest assured I know exactly what's going to happen and where the story is going, so there's no need to trouble yourselves. =P

~O~O~O~O~O~O~

~O~O~O~O~O~O~

~O~O~O~O~O~O~

The prospect of actually aiding Voldemort in his resurrection plan kept Harry up for most of the night, to say nothing about his realization regarding his plans for Wormtail. Any lingering anger or resentment he'd still harbored toward Dumbledore evaporated under the weight of the decisions he was being forced to make. He still had time (in the case of Crouch Jr, years), to rethink his strategy, but in some ways that was more of a burden than less. Even knowing that one wrong move could spell disaster, there was a not-small part of him that wanted to just get it over with rather than be forced to stew on whether or not he'd made the right call for months on end while he waited for everything to play out.

Needless to say, his distraction got him into trouble the next morning when he greeted his dorm mates.

'How t-t-t-t-t-t did t-t-t-t-t-t you t-t-t-t-t-t get-t-t-t-t-t-t-t rid t-t-t-t-t-t-t of t-t-t-t-t-t-t it-t-t-t-t-t-t?' Ron demanded furiously. The others were looking at him as well.

'Oh! Er, I...I couldn't sleep well, and...' his brain was scrambling to come up with an explanation that would satisfy them without also giving the answer away. 'I, er, I kept thinking about what we learned from Dumbledore, and I remembered something and thought I'd try it.'

'What was it?' Came Dean's high-pitched voice. Strung out as he was, Harry still couldn't help but laugh.

'Oh no, I was up half the night for this,' he lied. 'You lot can figure it out on your own.'

'That's cold, Potter, you dirty rotter,' said Seamus. He then groaned loudly. 'Dean, I mean it, these rhymes are the worst. I feel like I've been doubly cursed! Couldn't you have practiced a little bit first?'

'Ron got me bad, too,' murmured Neville, who'd barely spoken at all through this entire ordeal. 'I keep rhyming with rude words like "poo".'

Harry burst out laughing again.

'It's not funny, Potter!' cried Dean.

'It really is, though!' said Harry, wiping away a tear. If anything else, his awful mood of a few minutes ago had certainly been lifted. There was one thing to be said for being a child again. Then, because the four other boys looked moments away from stringing him up by his heels, he forced himself to calm down. 'Let's go downstairs and see how the girls are doing,' he said. 'If I'm going to give any hints, I should at least give them to everyone.'

This seemed to placate them for the time being, and they got dressed in relative silence, despite Harry's repeated attempts to goad them into conversation.

When they arrived in the common room, the girls were already there, speaking in hushed tones in an out of the way nook, no doubt wishing to avoid the rest of Gryffindor House hearing them. They were just as shocked as the boys had been to learn that Harry had managed to break his curse. Hermione was beside herself with frustration.

'Arrgh!' she cried, tugging at her hair. 'This is driving me mad, see?' she said, showing him the wisps of hair she'd pulled out. 'I've never failed this badly! How could I not have worked this out? It's something stupidly simple, no doubt.'

'Come on, Harry, don't be a tit,' said Seamus. 'You've got to at least help us a bit.'

'I thought Neville was the one jinxed to say rude words,' teased Harry.

'Just give us a hint, you sodding bint!' shouted Seamus, loud enough to attract the attention of some older students. Fortunately they seemed to find his outburst amusing and not worthy of further investigation.

'I'm not sure that's the proper usage of that word,' said Harry, grinning. 'But all right, I'll give you a hint. Hermione's right; it _is_ simple, and Dumbledore _did_ tell us about it.'

'He didn't, though,' Lavender squeaked. 'He never taught us how to break any of these curses.'

'Exactly.'

There was a pause of several seconds while they tried to work out his meaning, and then Hermione clutched her forehead and groaned loudly.

'Oh for heaven's sake, of _course_!' she said. 'I must be as dumb as a horse. No, worse than that, a horse's bottom. He _did_ say, if you don't know a counter, try _finite incantatem._ ' She waved her wand as she said the spell, and a moment passed.

'Did t-t-t-t-t-t it-t-t-t-t-t-t work?' Parvati asked.

'I think it did,' said Hermione tentatively. After a few seconds of no further talking, she cheered triumphantly.

'I don't get it,' said Dean in his high-pitched voice.

'Don't you remember?' Hermione said. She was clearly reveling in the ability to speak normally again. 'Dumbledore said that even though knowing a specific countercurse is always the best option, it's not always feasible. In a pinch, you can always try _finite incantatem_ , since it will cancel almost any charm or enchantment as long as it's cast powerfully enough relative to the original spell.'

'That's right! I remember!' squeaked Lavender. ' _Finite incantatem!'_ She waved her wand at herself and after a moment, hummed a few notes to see if it had worked. Her voice was back to normal. "I did it!"

Dean followed suit a moment later and succeeded as well.

'Fine t-t-t-t-t-t for t-t-t-t-t-t you t-t-t-t-t-t lot-t-t-t,' chittered Ron. 'But-t-t-t-t-t-t how t-t-t-t-t-t are t-t-t-t-t-t we t-t-t-t-t-t supposed-t-t-t-t-to pronounce t-t-t-t-t-t-t-the spell?' He indicated himself and Parvati.

'And even if we can say the words right,' Neville added nervously, 'it won't work if our spellcasting is shite.' His face went red as a tomato.

'It'll be all right, Neville,' said Harry. 'Professor Overdeck wouldn't have assigned us something he didn't think we could do. Concentrate and give it your best shot.'

'You can do it, Neville!' cheered Lavender.

'Have at it, mate,' said Dean.

'What words should I...oh! Got 'em! _Finite incantatem!'_ He waved his wand with intent and everyone froze, waiting to see if it had worked. There were several seconds of silence.

'Well?' prompted Hermione.

'Oh!' said Neville, jumping slightly. 'I forgot I was supposed to test it!' There was another short pause before everyone realized what had happened, then there were cheers and lots of claps on the back.

'Told you,' said Harry proudly. The feeling reminded him of the D.A., and how much he had enjoyed teaching and encouraging his friends then, too.

'What-t-t-t-t-t-t-t about-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t us?' Parvati said once everyone had calmed back down again.

'Hmm, that is a bit trickier,' said Hermione, putting her finger to her chin in thought. 'McGonagall and Flitwick are always warning us against pronouncing spells wrong, so it seems like there's no way around it, but like Harry said, there has to be, or else Overdeck wouldn't have given it to us in the first place.'

Harry knew the easiest solution would be to just perform the spell non-verbally, but as no first year would be capable of that, it couldn't be the right answer. He had another idea that he wasn't entirely certain of, which meant he wouldn't simply be giving them an answer if he voiced it. Still, he wanted to see if anyone else came up with it first.

Seamus was all for just trying it and seeing what happened, but changed his mind when Ron suggested testing on him first.

'What if you just...stopped moving your wand while you're chittering?' mused Lavender. Harry raised his eyebrows. He'd been ready to suggest saying the spell first, chitters and all, and saving the wand movement for afterwards. This, however, was a novel idea, and while he wasn't certain it would work, he wasn't sure it wouldn't, either.

'It's worth trying,' he said, shrugging. Ron mirrored the gesture and readied his wand, pointing it at himself.

'Finite-t-t-t-t,' he paused and held his wand perfectly still until he was able to speak again, 'incantatem.' He finished the wand movement, and there was the barest instant of suspense while everyone waited to see if he would end up with a buffalo on his chest. A moment later, he took a breath and said, 'Did it work?'

The other first years jumped and celebrated, and Harry was surprised to catch himself letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Parvati was quick to repeat exactly what Ron had done, and by the time they headed down to breakfast, all eight first year Gryffindors were speaking entirely normally.

Their accomplishment, they discovered later that day, was less than well received by the first years from the other houses. The Hufflepuffs and Slytherins were furious that they were still under the influence of the embarrassing set of jinxes, and the Ravenclaws were annoyed that they weren't the only ones to have figured out the solution so quickly.

'How did you all do it so fast?' Stephen Cornfoot was hassling them in the library on Wednesday afternoon. It was their last chess tournament before the Easter holidays. 'We were sure we'd be the only ones who'd gotten it on the first day.'

'It was Hermione, I'll wager,' said Natalie Moon. She was sitting back and watching while Stephen and Ron set up the boards. 'The whole lot of them are riding her cloak hem.'

'It was Harry, actually,' said Hermione. 'I was just as flummoxed as everyone else.'

'Really?' asked Natalie, looking back and forth between Hermione and Harry, surprised.

'You'd have gotten it if you'd been thinking straight,' Harry said.

'That's just it though, isn't it?' said Hermione. 'Out of all of us, you were the only one who stayed calm the entire time.' Her eyes went wide as if she'd just realized something. 'Oh! I bet that was the whole point of the assignment!'

Harry tried to hide his grin. Ron looked over from the chess board. 'You reckon?' he said. 'Mind, that would make sense. You wouldn't want to lose your head in a real crisis. Even if you knew what to do, you might not think of it.'

'Yes, exactly,' said Hermione. 'Any one of us could have remembered what Dumbledore had told us if we'd been thinking properly, but while we were all panicking, Harry just thought the whole thing was funny.'

'To be fair, it was,' put in Harry. 'But you're probably right. Better to learn this lesson now than say, when you're being strangled by devil's snare or something.'

'Oh, that _would_ be scary,' said Hermione, her hands going to her cheeks. 'Yes, I'd much rather be forced to speak in rhyme, thank you.'

Stephen and Natalie were looking at each other and chuckling.

'What?' Ron demanded.

'Oh, it's nothing,' said Stephen, turning his attention back to the chessboard and prodding a pawn with his wand to make his opening move. 'You lot have just stumbled on to something every Ravenclaw knows from day one and you're acting like you've discovered an amazing secret or something, that's all.'

~O~O~O~O~O~O~

When they returned to Defense Against the Dark Arts on Thursday, it was well known that they had completed their assignment. But, true to his word, Professor Overdeck jinxed them all again himself to see if they could remove it. Many of the students found his curses more difficult to remove than the ones they'd cast on each other. Only Harry and Hermione were able to manage it on their first try.

'Well done, you two!' Overdeck said to them, awarding them five points apiece. Then he turned to the rest of the class and said jauntily, 'I see you're all realizing that a spell cast by a fully trained wizard can be a little hahda to lift than one cast by a beginnah. With time and practice, you'll be able to manage it much easiah.'

All around the room, students were shouting 'FINITE INCANTATEM!' in high-pitched, squeaky voices, or trying to time their wand movements with when they could speak properly, or rhyming the incantation with things like 'autumn', 'bethought him', and 'Seringapatam'. Of course Overdeck had not hexed any of them with the same curse they'd had before. Ron was bitterly disappointed that Hermione and Harry had broken theirs so quickly; he'd been looking forward to watching them chitter for a while.

'Couldn't you have at least given it a minute?' he asked grumpily. 'I mean, after all, it's only fair, innit?' He paused for a moment, then seemed to realize what he'd just said. He swore under his breath, followed by, 'I was so sure I'd got it right.'

'RON!' Cried Hermione, scandalized, whipping her head around in panic to see if Professor Overdeck had heard. Fortunately, he was assessing Parvati and Lavender's spellwork on the other side of the room. Harry, meanwhile, was attempting (and failing) to conceal his laughter. Ron scowled at him.

'Look who's so merry; think it's funny, Harry?"

'Very.'

Even Hermione couldn't suppress her smile now. She seemed to take pity on Ron.

'Have you tried saying the spell first?' she asked. Ron arched an eyebrow questioningly.

'Well, I mean,' she explained, 'most of what you've been saying has been in the form of rhyming couplets. It was the same with me. But as far as I can tell, there's nothing forcing you to say the spell in the second line. If you say it first, the spell will be broken and you won't have to worry about the second line. I can't believe I didn't think of it before.'

Harry was sure Ron didn't know what a couplet was, but he seemed to understand Hermione's suggestion at the very least.

'Right, let's try it. Finite incantatem!' he waved his wand. There was a pause. Then Harry said, 'Useful thing you taught him.' Ron jumped, before then realized he hadn't been the one to speak.

'Harry, you git!' he shouted, but he was grinning now. 'I thought I'd messed it up again!'

Hermione was shaking her head, smiling. 'I don't know what I'm going to do with you two,' she said. 'But at least it worked. I wasn't sure.'

'That was a really good idea, Hermione,' Harry told her. It was one he hadn't thought of himself.

'Well, I reasoned the worst that could happen would be that it wouldn't work, and he'd just end up saying "bottom" again or something.'

At this point, Overdeck was beckoning for their attention from the front of the room. Apparently everyone had been successful in removing their jinxes.

'Good job everyone!' he called. 'Now, who can tell me what the point of this assignment was?'

Hermione's hand shot into the air, but it was Dean Thomas that Overdeck called on. 'Wasn't it to learn how to lift jinxes, sir?'

'Well yes, that was paht of it,' said Overdeck, chuckling. 'But there's something much biggah that I hope you all learned from this.'

Hermione's hand went up again, and this time he did call on her.

'You were trying to teach us we need to stay calm in a crisis,' she said confidently. 'That's why you made us go for three days with the most embarrassing hexes you could think of.'

'Absolutely right,' said Overdeck. 'Heah at school we can prepeah you for all kinds of trouble. But no mattah what you've prepeahed foah, you'll nevah be able to deal with it propahly if you ahn't thinking straight. I hope this little demonstration showed you just how much of a difference that can make. I assume Mr. Pottah over theah was the first of you to work this out?'

All heads turned to Harry, who was taken a little off-guard. He hadn't expected to be put on the spot. At that moment, he felt more like a student again than at any time since his "return" to Hogwarts.

'Erm, yes, sir,' he said.

'Thought as much,' said Overdeck. 'Mind sharing your secret?'

Harry shrugged. 'I guess I just thought it was funny,' he said honestly. 'Plus, I've been in a few uh...situations...where panicking wouldn't have helped.'

'Experience,' Overdeck said, nodding. 'A great teachah. Fah bettah than me. And now you've all had a taste of it yourselves. I hope you remembah it if you're evah faced with a real crisis.'

There were a few moments of silence as everyone let that sink in, and then he clapped his hands loudly. 'Now! We haven't got much time left, and I know your holidays staht this weekend. For the rest of class, why don't we just practice a bit moah? Try out a few moah jinxes on each othah and then remove them using Finite Incantatem. Nothing hahmful; just playground jinxes like jelly legs and _tarantellegra_. I'll let you know when it's time ta pack up.'

They all thoroughly enjoyed themselves for the remainder of the class (though they were careful to make sure all the hexes had been lifted well before the bell rang, just in case). Harry found the most difficult thing for him was to suppress the instinct to block all the spells people were casting at him. As he had proven to have no difficulty removing them, everyone wanted to be the first to pull one over on him. It was rather exhausting. He was relieved when the class finally ended, and Overdeck wished them a cheerful vacation, promising they'd be working twice as hard on specific countercurses when they got back.

'He could have done without assigning us that essay,' Ron complained as they made their way to lunch. 'I mean, why ruin such a fun lesson with homework?'

'Oh come on, Ron, it's not very much,' Hermione said. 'Only a foot and a half? I bet McGonagall gives us twice that much.

They were indeed inundated with work from not just McGonagall, but all their teachers - Defense Against the Dark Arts turned out to be their lightest assignment - such that if Harry truly had been eleven, he would have felt nearly overwhelmed. He could only imagine how Ron must have felt. Hermione, of course, was in her element and not bothered at all.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~

It was with anticipation bordering on nervous breakdown that Harry boarded the train on Saturday morning with Ron, Fred, and George. Percy had opted to remain at school for what he referred to as "optimal quiet studying time" for his O.W.L.s. Hermione made no secret of the fact that she agreed with him and thought Ron and Harry were being awfully irresponsible by taking a week off so close to the end of the year. Harry assured her he wouldn't fall behind (Ron asserted he simply didn't care), but it was still with a slightly disapproving look that she bade farewell to them in the entrance hall.

'Does she really think taking a week's holiday is going to affect our exam scores that much?' Ron was still grumbling half an hour later as he hefted his trunk onto the rack in the compartment the four boys had found for themselves. The twins' friend Lee Jordan wasn't going home either, so they sat with Ron and Harry.

'I expect she does,' Harry said, lifting his trunk after Ron's. He had far less difficulty, as he'd surreptitiously cast a mild feather-weight charm on it earlier. It didn't hurt that it was only his clothes and broomstick in there either; he certainly wouldn't be needing any of his schoolbooks. He didn't even need them at school other than to keep up appearances.

'Though more likely she thinks we're not going to do any of our homework,' he added.

'Homework on holiday!' Ron cried, throwing up his hands in frustration. 'Mad!'

'Best not to worry about it, I say,' said Fred, who'd already taken a seat by the window. 'This is the first time Mum's ever let us come home for Easter hols; it'd be a waste not to take full advantage of it.'

'Remember to bring your broomstick, Harry?' George asked as the rest of them sat. He'd taken the other window seat, so Harry and Ron sat facing each other.

'Of course,' he replied, grinning. It was lucky the other three had been talking up a week's worth of Quidditch so much; the excitement he felt and was unable to conceal over finally seeing Ginny (and the Burrow) could be attributed to that.

'Are we really going to let Ginny play?' Ron asked again.

'We might as well, if she really wants to,' said Fred, shrugging. 'It beats having her whinge at us about it all week, don't you think?'

'Besides, she's more likely to just want to watch, with Harry there,' said George. Harry's cheeks hurt from the strain of suppressing his grin.

'What if she's rubbish?' asks Ron.

'Then she'll either get bored and stop playing, or we'll teach her, same as you,' said Fred. Ron's ears went pink.

'I was never that bad,' he said sulkily.

'It's true, I've seen worse,' said George. 'But you weren't exactly brilliant, either.'

'To be fair, nobody's any good when they first start,' said Fred, being rather surprisingly diplomatic.

'Except Harry, for some reason,' replied George, clapping Harry on the shoulder.

'Yeah, dunno what that's about,' agreed Fred, nodding. 'It's unnatural, really. You'd think he'd already been playing his whole life or something.'

'I think the Dursleys might have noticed,' he joked, while laughing inwardly at the half-truth of Fred's statement.

'Not to mention the other Muggles who live around there,' added Ron, his good humor returned. 'Might've made an interesting story in the paper, though.'

They passed the time playing exploding snap and eating through the pile of sweets Harry had purchased from the trolley witch. One advantage of being young again was that he didn't have to feel guilty about eating so much junk.

He made sure to ask lots of questions about the Burrow, and the village of Ottery St. Catchpole. Far more than just playing his role, it could help cover his tracks later if he appeared to be more familiar with everything than he should be.

Finally, after what surely had to have been the longest train ride of Harry's entire existence, they began pulling into King's Cross Station. Harry thought his heart might burst from the anticipation, and then everything else along with it. It seemed every muscle in his body, from his toes to his eyeballs, was seconds away from seizing up.

He couldn't speak as they unloaded their trunks from the racks and pulled them out of the compartment. Walking across the platform, he felt like he was holding his breath in freezing water. He scanned around with his eyes, aware that he shouldn't know who to look for but unable to bring himself to care.

'Ah! There they are!' said George, causing Harry to jump practically out of his skin. He turned and looked where George was pointing, and sure enough, there was Mr Weasley waving cheerily at them, and at his side…

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. To Harry's eyes, she was radiating light and warmth like a patronus, only not silver but gold. The breath he had been holding came out shakily through his nose, and the tension that had been building in his muscles melted away like wax under a fire. It wasn't just from the last few days' anticipation, either, but all the stress and exhaustion from his entire year so far. She was waving too, for all the world like an overexcited young girl, but the look on her face reminded Harry of so many things: their first kiss, their first night together, the night he proposed…

He longed to run to her. To touch her. Hold her. Be near her. _Look_ at her. But he couldn't afford to. Not yet. Not just yet.

Not really focusing on anything other than her face, he allowed himself to be steered by Ron and the twins over to where Ginny and Mr Weasley were waiting.  
'You must be Harry,' said Mr Weasley jovially, putting out his hand. Still in something of a daze, Harry grasped it and shook it. 'This is Ginny,' he said, indicating his daughter. 'No doubt the boys have told you about her.'

'A bit,' Harry heard himself answer, turning to face her.

Ginny waved confidently again, smiling that brilliant smile. 'Hi.'

~O~O~O~O~O~O~

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~O~O~O~O~O~O~

I really don't like how short this chapter is. In principle, anyway. But I've been sitting on it for so long, I just wanted to get it out there. That, and I had a whole other page and a half written before I realized that I'd breezed right past the perfect ending point. But hey, glass half full, the next chapter's already well underway.

Sorry again this one took so long. Maybe now I can finally get back in the swing of things.

As always, thanks in advance to those who leave reviews. I'm going to make an effort to start replying to them again. Until next time!


	9. Chapter 9

The first part of this chapter was, as I mentioned in my end notes last time, originally part of chapter 8 until I decided I wanted to cut it at the moment of Harry and Ginny's meeting. Gave me some nice momentum going into this one.

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Harry almost laughed; it was so unlike the Ginny he'd first met that he would have worried Ron and the others would think something was up, but of course they'd never seen that version of Ginny. That memory only existed within the two of them.  
'Didn't know you were coming, Gin-Gin,' said George, looking around. 'Where's Mum?'

'Back at home,' Mr Weasley said. 'She wants you all to be able to eat a hot meal when you come in the door.'

'Not surprising Ginny came along, really,' said Fred. 'Consider who we've got with us, after all.' He glanced at Harry and grinned, clearly thinking he was taking the mickey.

'Well obviously,' she said. 'No sense coming all the way out here just to see you lot. I see far too much of you as it is.' Harry noticed that her smile was much more fond than teasing, but Fred didn't. He was grasping his chest, pretending to be heartily insulted. Ron, meanwhile, seemed taken aback that Ginny hadn't even bothered trying to deny she'd come to see Harry.

'Ickle Ginny's toughening up, Fred,' said George. 'We're going to have to up our game.'

'It's good to see you too, you gits,' she said, and she hugged the twins. Then Ron. Then Harry, so he 'won't feel left out,' she explained to her brothers. 'It's lovely to meet you, Harry,' she said sweetly. 'I've heard a lot about you, you know.' Her eyes twinkled. So that's how it was going to be.

'Er, yeah. Likewise,' said Harry, still feeling a little loopy. He'd known she was going to be here – she'd told him – but it looked as though he hadn't mentally prepared himself nearly as much as he'd thought.

'We'd better get a move on,' said Mr Weasley at last, looking at his watch. 'We've still got a bit of a drive ahead of us.'

They wheeled their trunks out of the station, Ginny all the while chattering away excitedly about everything under the sun. Harry could see what she was doing; far beyond just having some fun with him – he'd get her back just as soon as his heart slowed back down and his head stopped spinning – she was worming her way into the group of them right out of the gate before Ron or the twins had a chance to shoo her away. And she was doing it in a way that wouldn't seem out of character to the brothers who'd grown up with the girl who, as Ron always said, 'Never shuts up.'

'And there's a great big paddock out behind the house,' she was saying as they loaded their trunks into the car. 'Big tall trees all around it so Muggles can't see you flying as long as you don't go too high. And - '

'Merlin, Ginny, breathe for a second, would you?' said Ron as they climbed into the back of the old Ford Anglia. Ginny sat in the middle of the long, bench-like seat, with the twins on her left and Harry and Ron on her right. At no point did she even allow for the suggestion that she would sit in the front, apart from them.

'Harry already knows about the paddock, Ginny,' said George.

'I expect it's because we've been talking about it all week,' said Fred.

'Oh, right,' she said, not losing a step. 'Did you tell him about the pond out back? I reckon it's still too cold for swimming, but we might get lucky. And in the village - '

'Blimey, Ginny, give him a minute to think,' Ron interrupted again.

'It's all right,' said Harry. 'What about the village?' He, for his part, wanted it made clear right from the start that he intended to include Ginny. Ron had followed his lead with Hermione; would he do it with his own sister? Well, it wouldn't matter if he didn't, but it might make for an awkward first few days at the Burrow.

'Well, I was just going to say that there's a shop that sells all kinds of Muggle snacks. I thought maybe, since you grew up in the Muggle world, you might like some of them.' She knew he did, of course. Harry had been practically conditioned to like all kinds of snacks and sweets growing up. Since Dudley never let him have any, any time he did was always a rare treat. He was one of the few people he knew of who enjoyed Muggle junk food as much as magical, though he'd turned Ginny on to some of it.

'That sounds brilliant,' said Harry, before Ron could tell her off for reminding him of the Dursleys or something. Honestly, he meant well, but he really needed to stuff a sock in it.

'Can't hold a candle to the sweets on the train, can it?' asked Fred.

'Oh, I don't know,' said Harry. 'They're definitely different, that's for sure, but there are plenty of Muggle sweets that are just as good.' The three brothers looked doubtful, but there was no more discussion on the matter.

'Your mother or I will have to come with you if you want to be going into the village,' Mr Weasley told them from up front. 'As Percy decided to stay at school.'

Harry was surprised. He'd expected vociferous complaints at this, but there was simply mutters of acknowledgment and only the slightest bit of grumbling. It took him a moment to realize he was thinking of how the older versions of Ron and the twins would have reacted; it had been a long time since he'd seen them this young around their family.

Then Ginny started up again, asking Ron and Harry about their classes and what they thought of Hogwarts. This put Ron in a better mood; he rarely had a chance to experience things before any of his siblings, and was happy to tell Ginny about anything she asked. She winked at Harry behind Ron's back when he was telling her about Snape.

'And he's got it in for Harry,' he was saying. 'Should have seen him; first lesson, asking Harry all kinds of questions out of nowhere. Course, Harry knew the answers somehow, but Snape just decided he was trying to show off and took points from him anyway.'

'That doesn't seem very fair!' said Ginny, pouring it on a little thick, in Harry's opinion. He understood why a moment later when she put a hand on his knee and said, with the greatest air of concern, 'I'm sorry he's so mean to you, Harry.'

Harry ached to put his hand on hers, but the reaction from her brothers (Ron in particular), though no doubt amusing, would likely be more trouble than it was worth in the long run. So he simply said, sincere as he could manage it, 'It's all right. I've sort of grown used to it by now; I hardly even notice anymore.' That much was true. He had all but mastered the art of tuning Snape out, which no doubt infuriated the Potions master, who still attempted every single lesson to get a rise out of Harry to no avail.

'What about you, Gin-Gin?' George interrupted from her other side. 'What have you been up to at home all by your lonesome?'

'You'd know that if you ever wrote like you promised,' she said, giving them a sidelong glance. It was obvious to Harry she was just winding them up, but apparently they seemed to think she was serious.

'Er, yeah, sorry about that,' said Fred sheepishly. 'Meant to. Really. Been busy, you know.'

Harry could see her shaking with silent laughter. She let it drag on for a few more moments before letting them off the hook, chuckling aloud.

'You two really are off your game if I can get you going that easily,' she teased. 'Out of practice? Been leaving Ron and Harry alone? That's awfully nice of you.'

'She got us again, Fred!' George groaned, while Fred just shook his head ruefully. 'I don't remember you being quite so good at this,' he said to Ginny.

'I'm sure there are a lot of things you don't remember,' she said. 'But I still think you've gone a bit soft.' Harry wondered if she was subconsciously remembering them as their older selves, too.

'Well, we sort of have to go easy on Harry,' said Fred. 'He's our seeker. Need him on our side.'

'Sure, sure,' she teased, waving her hand. 'But anyway, to answer your question, George, I've been doing absolutely nothing. I'm bored out of my mind and you lot showing up has saved me from going completely round the twist.'

Fred and George looked at each other. Something seemed to pass between them.

'Listen, Ginny,' said Fred, 'we were planning to play a fair bit of Quidditch while we're home. If you wanted to come and watch, or try playing, I mean...'

'I want to play,' Ginny said fiercely, and for a moment her young girl facade was forgotten. She picked it right back up again, though. 'You lot never let me play, and now you're home for the first time in months and you're not going to leave me by myself again.'

'That's what we're saying,' George defended.

'And Ron?' she asked, turning to face her youngest brother.

'Right, yeah, okay,' said Ron from Harry's other side. He had something of a guilty look on his face. 'You're right, that's not fair. If you want to play you can; Fred and George were already talking about it on the way back.'

'And apparently their friend Hermione gave him something of a telling off about it, too,' added George, jerking his head at Ron.

'Blimey, Harry, why did you have to go and tell them about that?'

'It just came up,' said Harry, shrugging innocently.

'I think I'd like to meet Hermione,' said Ginny airily, but Harry could hear the twinge of longing in her voice.

'Make sure you get into Gryffindor in September, then,' said Ron.

'I'm not worried about that,' she said.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~

The stars were out in force by the time they pulled into the drive at the Burrow. Ron's stomach had been growing for the last half hour, and Harry was starting to feel hungry himself.

They had barely stepped out of the car when the front door opened, and Mrs Weasley was standing there in a rectangle of light from inside the house, greeting them. Ron made straight for the house, but his father called him back at once.

'Take all of your things inside, and then we can have supper,' he said. Ron grumbled, but trudged back to the car's now open boot and began heaving his trunk out. Harry and Ginny shared a look and grinned.

They made a sort of train, each person holding the front of one trunk and the back of another, all charmed light by Mr Weasley. Fred led the way, followed by George, Ron, and finally Harry. Ginny held the back of his trunk despite his perfunctory claim that she needn't bother herself, which she waved aside expertly for the benefit of her father and brothers.

Once they were inside, the delicious smell of stew permeated Harry's nostrils. Looking around surreptitiously, his heart filled with the familiar sights of his favorite house in the world. More than just the look and smell of it though, there was a _feel_ to the Burrow – something about it that he could detect in his bones, a comfort that laid itself over him and wrapped him up in it. It was good to be home.

'Come in and get some stew,' Mrs Weasley called to them after they'd piled their trunks inside the door. 'You can take those upstairs afterwards.' They filed into the kitchen and sat around the table, where a large tureen of beef stew sat waiting for them. Ginny immediately sat to Harry's left, and while nobody commented on this, he could tell they all noticed.

'Oh, it's so nice to have you all home,' Mrs Weasley said as they all tucked in vigorously. 'And Harry, dear!' she beamed at him. 'It's lovely to finally meet you! Ron's told us so much about you in his letters, of course. That dreadful incident back in January. I won't pretend I wasn't worried, what with the rumors that were flying about. I hope that hasn't sullied Hogwarts for you. Have you been enjoying your first year at school?'

'Yes, very much,' said Harry, not entirely truthfully, but it was what the young Harry would have said. 'Thanks so much for having me, Mrs Weasley.'

'Oh, it's our pleasure, dear!' she said cheerfully. 'We've wanted to meet you, and I daresay you could do with a holiday. Quite apart from run-ins with You-Know-Who, Ron's mentioned that, well...' she trailed off awkwardly. Evidently, she hadn't meant to bring this up.

'It's all right, Mrs Weasley,' Harry assured her. 'My relatives aren't the nicest people in the world, it's true, but I'm used to it by now.'

'Oh, but I still think...,' she said, looking a little embarrassed now. 'Well, never mind. You're here now and I hope you enjoy yourself. Ron tells me you've never been in a magical home before.'

'That's true,' Harry lied easily. 'You'd have to look far and wide to find a house that's less magical than the Dursleys'.'

Mrs Weasley smiled, seemingly put at ease. Then she turned to her sons. 'What were you all planning on doing tomorrow?' she asked them.

'Thought we'd play some Quidditch,' said George between mouthfuls of stew.

'I thought as much,' she said. 'Just make sure you stay below the tree line so the Muggles don't see you.'

'We know, Mum,' said Ron exasperatedly.

'And make sure you clearly point out the boundaries to Harry,' she continued on as if she hadn't heard him, 'as he hasn't flown here before and won't know what they are.'

'Right you are, Mum,' said Fred jauntily. She eyed him suspiciously, but said no more on the matter.

'Well, if that's your plan, I expect you'll want to make an early start of it,' she said. 'Ron, why don't you take Harry upstairs after you've finished eating so he can settle in?'

'All right,' Ron said. He turned. 'We're all the way up at the top, Harry. Might want to take the trunks up one at a time.'

'I can help,' Ginny offered, and before anyone else could react, Harry told her that was very nice of her, and thanked her very much.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~

'Sorry about Ginny,' Ron said as they were setting themselves up for bed in Ron's bedroom. Ginny herself had just left after helping carry their trunks upstairs, and then hanging around to talk for several more minutes.

'What do you mean?' Harry asked innocently.

'Well, I mean, she's always been the type to talk your ear off,' Ron said. 'And she's always wanted to meet you; talked about you all the time when we were growing up. Didn't expect her to attach herself to your hip the moment we got on the platform, though.'

'It's not a problem,' Harry said. 'I think she's nice. And anyway, I'd kill to have that kind of confidence when meeting people. Especially if it's someone I admired.'

'Hadn't thought about it like that,' Ron admitted. 'But if she does start bothering you, let her know, okay? I mean, don't be a berk about it or anything obviously, but you can tell her to lay off a bit.'

'I'll keep that in mind,' Harry said, only just failing to hide his amusement. The truth was, as a real eleven year old, he probably would have been uncomfortable with how obviously forward Ginny was being. There was no need to give Ron that impression, though.

'Well, as long as you're all right with it,' Ron said, looking dubious. 'I think it'd drive me mad, personally.'

'She's your sister. Isn't she supposed to do that?'

Ron laughed. 'Well then she does a cracking good job of it, What time did you want to get started tomorrow?'

'As early as you can,' said Harry, knowing Ron was much more likely to sleep in than he was. 'Being away from school _and_ the Dursleys at the same time is a rare treat. I want to make the most of it.'

'Best turn in, then. Mum'll be up with the sun, so we won't have to worry about waiting for breakfast before we go out.'

They spent a few minutes arranging their things and making themselves comfortable before climbing into bed – Harry into the all-too-familiar camp bed – and dousing the lights.

'Night, Harry,' said Ron. And despite the relatively early hour, he rolled over and was snoring within minutes.

Now Harry faced a dilemma. It would be hours yet before he could sneak outside and meet Ginny as they'd planned. What was he to do in the mean time? If he went to sleep, he risked not waking back up and then missing their rendezvous, which was naturally out of the question. He couldn't cast his usual alarm charm; deep sleeper though Ron was, he was sure to notice a great klaxon going off in his bedroom in the middle of the night. Even the milder form using bell chimes ran a risk, though a much smaller one, considering Harry didn't one hundred percent trust it to wake _him_ up, either.

His other options were to sneak downstairs early – dangerous with Mr and Mrs Weasley still up (and if Fred and George had gone to sleep, he'd eat his wand) – or to sit in the darkness of Ron's room for several hours waiting for everyone else to go to bed. That option appealed to him least of all, because quite on top of it being incredibly boring, there was always the chance he'd nod off without meaning to.

It took Harry several minutes of thinking before he hit upon a solution, which made him feel incredibly foolish for not thinking of it earlier. He didn't need to sneak downstairs and into the backyard. He didn't need his invisibility cloak. He didn't need to wait for everyone else in the house to fall asleep. He wasn't at Hogwarts, which meant there was absolutely nothing stopping him from simply apparating into the back garden right from where he sat.

He hadn't apparated since becoming a child again, but that didn't concern him. Like riding a broom, it wasn't something you forgot how to do once you'd learned. Besides, he'd apparated so often and under such strenuous conditions during the last year of the war that he doubted whether he could ever splinch himself even if he tried.

The problem would be the noise. As an auror, he'd trained to minimize the tell-tale cracking sound that accompanied apparition, and had managed to reduce his to merely a small pop. A silencing charm would prevent Mr and Mrs Weasley from hearing anything, but he'd have to simply trust in Ron's deep sleeping ability to keep him from waking.

Slowly and carefully getting out of his camp bed, he pointed his wand at the door and non-verbally cast a silencing charm. Then he stepped over to his trunk, took out his invisibility cloak and threw it over himself. Finally, he grabbed his broomstick from where it was leaning against the wall, and with a last look to make sure Ron was definitely asleep, he turned on his heel and disapparated.

He appeared a moment later behind the large willow tree that grew on the far side of the pond from the house. Looking back toward the Burrow, he could see a few lights in windows, but Ginny's was not one of them. She was either asleep or – more likely – pretending to be.

Taking care to make sure his invisibility cloak was wrapped tightly around him, he mounted his broom and took off into the air. It wasn't perfect; anyone standing directly beneath him would be able to see his shoes at the very least, but it would serve his purposes for the moment.

He glided – slowly, so the cloak wouldn't blow off – up to Ginny's window and glanced in. With no light, he couldn't see much, but he could at least be sure her parents weren't in there. Raising his right hand, he gently rapped his knuckles on the glass.

He could make out movement. Evidently Ginny was trying to determine whether or not she'd heard anything. He rapped again. This time she rose and strode over to the window. Opening it, she looked around.

'Harry?' she whispered. He pulled the cloak back just enough to reveal his face.

'That's a big risk you just took,' he whispered back, teasing her. 'What if it wasn't me?'

'Idiot,' she said fondly. 'Who else would it be? What are you doing here? I thought we were going to wait until after midnight.'

'I didn't want to,' he said with a shrug, then remembered that she couldn't see it. 'Anyway, can you come out now? Your parents aren't going to check in on you or anything, are they?'

'No. Why would they?'

'Oh, I don't know,' he said. 'Maybe to make sure you haven't sneaked upstairs to see the handsome boy staying in your brother's room?'

'Right,' she said, rolling her eyes. 'I don't think they're especially worried about that. They think I'm ten, remember?'

'I don't know, you were being awfully direct about your intentions this evening,' he carried on. 'They might be getting ideas.' It was hard to tell in the dark, but he thought she might have blushed.

'Wish fulfillment,' she muttered.

'What?'

'Nothing. Never mind. If we're going to go, let's go; my parents might not notice I'm not asleep, but having a conversation out my open window is kind of pushing our luck.'

He slid back on his broom and turned sideways so she could climb out onto it in front of him. He made sure to lift the invisibility cloak enough so that she could see what she was doing, then once she was situated he draped it back over the both of them.

Even though it was purely out of necessity to grab the broom, it was heaven to have his arms around her again. It had been nearly a year since he had held her like this, though admittedly the last time had been far more intimate. It would be much longer still before they'd be able to do anything like that again.

He slowly flew them back out to the willow tree. He had to be very careful not to lose his concentration on what he was doing, because Ginny was leaning back into his chest in a very contented sort of way, and the combination of that and the feel and smell of her hair was almost enough to drive him to complete distraction.

They said nothing as they drifted over the pond, and Harry eventually brought them down behind the willow. No one who wasn't specifically looking for them would be able to see them from the house.

Ginny dismounted, but Harry barely had time to lament the loss of contact. Hardly had she slid off the broom and stood up than she spun around and threw her arms around him, catching him in one of the most bone-crushing, soul-warming hugs he had ever experienced in his life.

It was strange, Harry reflected as his own arms wrapped themselves tightly around her; in their current prepubescent states, he felt none of the burning physical desire for his fiancee that he'd become so accustomed to over the years, but the ever-present yearning to be near her, the comfort he derived from her touch, the euphoria of holding her in his arms, were all just as strong as ever.

'I missed you so much,' she whispered in the darkness, never once loosening her grip on him. 'I wish I could kiss you, but...it would feel really weird.' Her tone begged for his understanding, his forgiveness.

'I get it,' Harry said, relieved he was not the only one experiencing these strange, conflicting feelings. The emotions of an adult did not mix will with the hormones of a child, it would seem. He could feel her relax at his affirmation, the acknowledgment that her aversion to physical intimacy was valid.

'This will have to do for at least a few years, I reckon,' he said, stroking her back and catching some of her hair in his fingers.

'Not that long, I hope,' she said. 'If I'm not all right with at least kissing you by my second year, I'll be very disappointed with myself.'

'Twelve and thirteen year-olds kiss, right?' he asked. His own experience on the matter was sorely lacking.

'Some of them do, I'm sure,' she replied. 'I myself was too fixated on one boy in particular to pay attention to any others who might have been interested in me at the time.'

'Bloke sounds pretty oblivious,' Harry said. 'Hardly worth wasting your time on.'

'Oh, he was. He got better, though.'

'Just in time to find you dating someone else, I'll wager.'

'It was just as well. I don't know that I'd ever have gotten the nerve to talk to him, otherwise.'

'You would have,' he said, pulling back enough to look her in the eyes – familiar, beautiful eyes that had not changed at all, though the rest of her body had. 'You're one of the bravest people I know. Braver than me. I never once had the courage to approach a girl I fancied. They always had to do the hard work for me.'

'I'm not going to dignify that ridiculous statement with a response,' Ginny said. 'Anyway, give me your wand. The urge to shag your brains out may be gone for the time being, but if I go one more day without doing magic it might not matter since I'll go mad and kill us all.'

Chuckling, Harry handed over the holly and phoenix feather wand. Ginny took it gracefully and immediately waved it, causing a number of stones around them to levitate.

'Oh, that's feels so good,' she said in relief. 'I'd almost forgotten.' She swished his wand again and the stones started flying around them in a circle. One final flick and they all dropped to the ground again.

'Careful doing anything too flashy before your parents go to bed,' Harry cautioned her. She gave him a mildly irritated look out of the corner of her eye, but nodded.

She continued casting spells for several minutes, relishing the feel of a wand in her hand and magic flowing through it after so long a term without. All told, she made a patch of twigs dance a jig, turned several leaves into crickets, silenced a frog sitting near the pond, conjured a stream of wine (of which she drank a bit), changed the color of her pyjamas three different times, and was about to conjure a patronus when she remembered herself and finally lowered the wand.

'I bet it'd have been the easiest one I ever did, too,' she said, handing Harry his wand back. 'I can't remember being this happy in a long time.'

'I'm glad,' said Harry, pleased to see her so ebullient, yet incredibly relieved all the same that she hadn't summoned a shining silver horse in the middle of the night within view of her parents' house. 'You can borrow it any time you want all week as long as we're careful about it. But now you've got it out of your system, I've got some spells to cast.'

'Diagnostics?' she asked. 'You think you can find out what's happened to us?'

'Well, I've got a better chance checking us both at the same time than I did by myself, but I can't guarantee anything.'

'Of course, of course,' she said, waving her hand impatiently. 'Go on, then.' She sat down on the ground cross-legged and closed her eyes, making it easier for him to examine her.

Slowly, he moved his wand over her and between them, using every method of dark magic detection the Aurors had ever taught him, but came up with nothing. Thinking he ought to branch out, he began searching for any traces of magic that were not Dark – anything at all that shouldn't be there. This was a bit more difficult, as it wasn't what he was trained to specialize in, but he knew the general theory. He remembered Dumbledore once telling him that all magic leaves traces; if only he knew where to look, or indeed what it was he was looking for.

Several minutes passed. Ginny sat completely silent and still, patient and uncomplaining. He was about to give it up for a bad job when finally, he thought he sensed something.

He must have gasped or given some other sign, because Ginny popped an eye open at once and asked, 'What is it? Did you find something?'

'I'm...not sure,' he said, carefully positioning his wand between them and recasting his last _revelio_ charm. 'There's...something. I'm not sure what it is or how to describe it. A...a resonance,' he managed. There was a faint thrumming; he sensed it in his chest more than he felt any actual vibrations. 'I don't even know if it's not supposed to be there.'

'What do you mean?' she asked. 'Surely anything at all you find is going to be unnatural, some kind of enchantment.'

'I don't...I don't know,' he replied lamely. The truth was, he was embarrassed to say what he was thinking. That faint, almost imperceptible thrumming he felt in his heart...it was as if there was a tether connecting the two of them. For one wild, insane moment, he imagined he was detecting their love for each other, the bond that held them together. He wondered what Dumbledore would say to that idea. He also resolved never to give voice to the thought, even to Ginny; he already felt a idiot for entertaining it even for a second.

'Can you remove it?' she asked. 'Cancel it, whatever it is?'

'No,' he said, perhaps too quickly. He lowered his wand and the faint sensation went away. 'Like I said, I'm not even sure what it is. I could cause real damage if I tried to do anything without more information. Whatever it was, it was definitely attached to both of us.'

'Attached?'

'No, that's not the right word,' he said, shaking his head. 'Affecting? Caused by? Anyway, it definitely has to do with us both, so it could be related to what brought us here, but I can't say for sure.'

'What else could it be, though?' she asked.

'I couldn't say,' he said, feeling the heat of a blush at the remembrance of his soppish fancy, and glad for the darkness that hid it from her. 'But it would be dangerous to try anything under the circumstances. Now I have something to go on though, I can maybe try and track something down in the library.' He doubted this very much, but it was the biggest lead they'd had in nine months.

'We'll have to keep trying every night,' Ginny said deliberately. 'Maybe now you've got a read on something, you'll be able to hone in on it.'

'Maybe,' he agreed, 'but this isn't the sort of thing I was trained for. I was basically making things up as I went along.'

'So you'll feel your way through,' she replied, full of confidence in him.'You're good at that. And if you haven't figured it out by the time I've got my wand, I can help you.'

Buoyed by her resolve, Harry nodded. 'Right,' he said. 'You're right. We can figure it out. In the meantime though, we should work on some of our other plans.'

'Later,' she said, gently putting her hand up to his mouth. 'We have a whole week, and you're supposed to be here to relax and have fun. You should try doing it.'

He wanted to retort that they didn't have time for relaxing and fun, that there were important details they needed to hash out for the coming year, but she leaned into him and hugged him again, and he was compelled to just hold her in the dark, enjoying a sense of rightness and completeness that he'd been missing since he woke up in his Aunt and Uncle's cupboard.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~

'Harry, wake up!'

Ron's voice jolted him awake, and he was greeted by a bright beam of sunlight shining through the window directly into his face.

'Agh, what time is it?' he asked groggily, mentally cursing himself. He was usually up before Ron; sleeping late might look suspicious. He was so tired of worrying about everything looking suspicious.

'Half seven,' Ron replied. 'I thought we were going to try to get an early start?'

'Yeah, sorry,' said Harry, rousing himself and putting on his glasses. 'Had a bit of trouble getting to sleep.'

'Was it the camp bed?' Ron asked. 'We can take turns with it if it's that bad.'

'No, nothing like that. Just had a lot running through my head; couldn't seem to shut it down.'

'Ah, I know that feeling,' said Ron, nodding. 'Doesn't happen often, thank Merlin, but it's the worst when it does, eh? Better luck tonight.'

'Thanks.' They dressed quickly and began heading down the stairs. Ginny's bedroom door was still closed, and Harry's mind drifted back to the real reason he hadn't gotten to sleep last night.

He and Ginny had stayed out for an indeterminate length of time, until long after Mr and Mrs Weasley had gone to bed. They talked about everything and nothing, enjoying each other's company, and gazed at the star-strewn sky.

Finally, Ginny said, 'We should go back in. Especially if we want to wake up early tomorrow morning.' She stood up and stretched, facing the house and waiting for him to follow.

'About that,' Harry said. He had refrained from mentioning this concern thus far, knowing it might upset her. 'I was thinking maybe I should sleep out here or something and sneak back in in the morning.'

'What?' she asked, her head whipping around so fast her hair was thrown across her face. 'What ever for?'

'Well, you know I've never been a peaceful sleeper,' he said. 'It got better when we moved in together, but after a year sleeping alone again, well...'

Her startled features melted into a look of tenderness and concern. 'Oh, Harry. Are they that bad again?'

'Not as bad as right after the war,' he asserted quickly. 'But bad enough. At school I have my bed curtains and a silencing charm to keep anyone from noticing. Here though, even Ron's bound to notice if I start thrashing around like mad, or wake up shrieking my head off.'

'How often…?'

'Not every night,' he assured her. 'Not that bad, anyway. But often enough that it's a good idea to take precautions.'

'Yes, I see your point,' she said at last, nodding. 'I can't silence my room without a wand, of course, so I've frightened Mum and Dad out of their wits a few times. Luckily, I can usually wake myself up without screaming, so they don't notice anything.'

An icy feeling washed over Harry, not unlike unexpectedly walking through a ghost. 'You too?' he asked.

'Of course,' she replied calmly. 'Mostly about the battle and that year at school under the Carrows, but I've seen Hagrid carry you out of the woods more than once. That's usually when I wake Mum and Dad.'

'Oh, Gin,' he said, and he stepped forward and placed his arms around her. In addition to wanting to comfort her, he felt guilty. She'd mentioned once or twice that her bad dreams were returning too, but he'd had no idea how bad they'd really become.

'It's all right,' she said, hugging him back. 'It's to be expected, isn't it? Anyway, we do have to figure out something for you while you're here because you're right; Ron would definitely notice. I managed to brew myself some dreamless sleep potion once, but I have to take it sparingly because I can't afford to keep nicking Mum's potions ingredients and expecting her not to notice.'

'You should've asked,' Harry said without thinking. 'I could have bought some supplies and sent them to you with Hedwig. No one would even know.'

Ginny blinked. 'I hadn't thought of that,' she said plainly. 'Now I feel a bit dim.'

'I'll order some when I get back and send them to you,' he said. 'I don't know that we'd be able to find the time to brew anything unnoticed this week.'

'Definitely not,' she agreed. 'In any case, it doesn't solve our immediate problem. I'm not letting you sleep out here, Harry; that's ridiculous.'

'But what if…?'

'Play it off as a nightmare,' she interrupted. 'Boys do have those, right? It's normal to have a bad dream every now and again. Ron's a prat, but not that big of a prat. He won't ask any awkward questions if you don't give him reason to.'

'If you say so,' Harry said. He wasn't entirely on board with Ginny's plan, but didn't have the energy to argue the point. They began their trek back to the house. Now that everyone was asleep, it was easier to walk and just use the broom at the last minute.

When he let her off at her bedroom window, he felt the urge to kiss her despite their younger bodies. Something about the moment just screamed for it; there were no hormones involved, only emotion. Evidently she felt the same, because once she was inside she turned around, leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.

'Good night, Harry,' she whispered. 'Sleep well.'

'You too.'

Both of them understood this as more than merely a typical goodnight expression.

Harry lowered himself back down to the ground, keeping his eye on her window. She had wisely closed it and gone straight to her bed, or else the two of them could have been another half hour before actually turning in for the night. He himself would be apparating directly back onto his camp bed. It was less risky than trying to come in through the window, from which he would have to climb over the foot of Ron's bed to enter the room. If Ron did wake up, Harry would be able to play off the sound as just him moving around.

Concentrating very hard on his target – it would defeat the entire purpose if he landed right on Ron's knees – he turned on his hill and vanished from the back yard. A moment later he was once again sitting in the dark attic bedroom. Nothing had changed since he'd left. Ron was still snoring away, and his silencing charm still held. Wordlessly, he removed it before taking off his glasses and stowing his broomstick and invisibility cloak back with the rest of his things.

He lay back on the camp bed and pulled the covers over himself, but did not close his eyes right away. No matter how Ginny tried to reassure him, his anxiety about having a nightmare he couldn't explain would not leave him. He remained awake for what felt like another hour, staring at the players of the Chudley Cannons zoom around the walls in grey robes he knew would be a bright orange had there been any light. Eventually, exhaustion caught up with him and he fell asleep only to be shaken awake by Ron several hours later.

Now he was seated at the breakfast table, dimly taking in all that surrounded him. Fred and George were already up and dressed, and by the looks of it had mostly finished breakfast by the time he and Ron started tucking into theirs.

'You all right, Harry?' asked Fred, a sausage on his fork halfway to his mouth. 'You look a little haggard.'

'Hard time falling asleep,' he repeated. It was nice, he reflected, to be able to give people an excuse for something that was the actual truth for a change, even if he was technically omitting parts of it.

'Good news for us,' said George cheerily. 'If you're off your game today, we stand a better chance.'

'Hang on, how come you two get to be on a team together?' asked Ron. 'That's a bit unfair, isn't it? You've got a lot more experience than we have.'

'Ah, but surely you want to be on a team with your best mate, right Ron?' said Fred.

'Besides,' George added earnestly, 'Harry's good enough naturally to make up for any experience gap. I wasn't kidding about our chances, you know.'

'I guess that's true,' Ron conceded.

'You didn't want us to be on the same team?' Harry asked.

'No, I didn't mean - ' Ron started, but broke off when he saw Harry was grinning at him. 'Blimey, you're just as bad as they are. Anyway, George is right. Even if I'm rubbish, you're good enough that we should be a match for them.'

'I'm not sure I'm comfortable with all the faith everyone seems to be putting in my Quidditch ability,' Harry quipped. A bit late, he realized it wasn't a very eleven-year-old thing to say, but nobody seemed to notice and he breathed a sigh of relief. It would be so much easier when he started getting closer to his own real age and he didn't have to watch what he said so much anymore.

'Where's Ginny?' Fred asked. 'I thought she wanted to come with us. I expected her to be at the door with a broom in her hand before we even came down for breakfast.'

'She's still sleeping,' Mrs Weasley informed them, placing a second helping of bacon onto Harry and Ron's plates. 'I can send her along once she's ready if you like.'

'We can wait for a little while at least,' Harry said, careful to sound neutral. 'I'm not sure I'm one hundred percent awake yet anyway.'

'Fair enough,' said George, clearing his plate away. 'Wouldn't want you falling off your broom or anything.'

Ginny finally made her way downstairs just as Ron and Harry were finishing their breakfast, Harry insisting to a very skeptical Mrs Weasley that he really couldn't eat another bite.

The moment Ginny entered the kitchen, her eyes found Harry's and she beamed at him. He smiled back drowsily, which was lucky. It was an instinctual action for both of them, but it was not missed by the other occupants of the kitchen and had his answering look been as bright as hers, questions would have been forthcoming. As it was, Ginny received appraising glances from the twins, a somewhat confused one from Ron, and a knowing smile from her mother as she took a seat at the table. Next to Harry, of course.

'Thanks for waiting,' she said to the lot of them as she hurried to eat her breakfast. 'I meant to get up earlier, but I had some trouble getting to sleep last night.'

'A lot of that going around,' said Fred, sounding very amused. 'You must be excited about something.'

'Wonder what it could be?' asked George innocently.

'Clobbering you two at Quidditch, of course,' said Ginny between bites without missing a beat. The twins laughed.

'We've got our work cut out for us, George,' Fred said.

'Whose broom are you going to use?' Ron asked her.

'Charlie left his old one here, remember?' Ginny said. 'It's a little worn down, but it'll do, I expect.'

'We can all take turns riding my Nimbus,' Harry offered. 'I don't want to have any unfair advantages.'

'Brilliant!' exclaimed Ron.

'Mighty big of you, Harry,' said George, though he too was unable to hide his enthusiasm for the idea.

'Let's get going, then,' Ginny said.

Fred did a double take. 'Did you finish eating already?'

'Like you said; I'm excited,' she replied. Harry barely suppressed a grin; he knew she was practically bursting at the seams to see their faces when she outflew them all on an obsolete broom.

'All right, let's go, then,' said Fred. 'Thanks for breakfast, Mum.' The five of them made their way out into the backyard and toward the broom shed. Harry, of course, was already carrying his own broomstick.

'Wish we could fly up to the paddock,' said Ron once they'd retrieved their brooms. Harry was briefly taken aback. In his later years at Hogwarts, they'd taken to playing Quidditch in the the back yard of the Burrow itself. It was smaller, but considered safer, and allowed for the use of actual Quidditch balls. He'd forgotten that in his first few visits to the Burrow, they'd played in a paddock away from the house, and that they'd had to fly low and use apples out of fear of Muggles spotting them.

'You and me both,' said George. 'But rules are rules,' he added in a fair imitation of Percy.

'How far a walk is it?' asked Harry, having legitimately forgotten.

'Not too long,' said Fred. 'We'll be there in under ten minutes.'

They trekked on through what remained of the morning mist. There was not a lot of conversation beyond how much fun it would be once they got in the air. At last they arrived, and Harry was shorked. He'd forgotten how spacious the area really was; it was almost worth the limitations. In fact, once he could find a way to convince Mr and Mrs Weasley to put some concealment charms on it, it could almost serve as a bona fide Quidditch pitch.

'Nice,' he said appreciatively.

'Remember, we can't fly too high,' Ron reminded him. 'The Muggle village is near enough that someone might see if we go over the trees.'

'That'll be fine,' said Harry. 'It might force us to be more creative with our maneuvers.'

'Never thought of it that way,' said George. 'But I like it.' Ginny was beaming. She always loved talking Quidditch strategy.

'So,' said Fred abruptly. 'Ron, you and Harry are on a team. And George and I. Ginny - '

'I'm on Harry's team,' she interrupted calmly. All three of her brothers widened their eyes for the briefest of moments, but appeared to accept her declaration.

'All right, then,' said Fred. 'We can handle three on two, right George?'

'I reckon we're about to find out,' said George.

Ginny surreptitiously caught Harry's eye and they both smiled. This was going to be fun.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~  
~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~  
~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

I could've kept right on going through the rest of the week at the Burrow, but it's been a long time and I wanted to get something posted.

I've recently uprooted and moved after three years living overseas, and took a short vacation in the process. I'm still in something of a transition period, but I'm making sure to write a little bit each day, even if it's only two hundred words or so. Rest assured I'm still having fun with this story, and other adventures I've made up for Harry and the gang.

As always, reviews and feedback are much appreciated. Thank you in advance, and I'll see you next time.


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